Victoria Harbour
by irislim
Summary: An international crime ring brings her to exotic Asia, a movie premiere brings him. And some things, no matter the time and miles in between, just never get lost in translation. Too bad someone's out to get them, eh? A no-movie AU (and a big LoVe letter to one of my favorite cities in the world).
1. First Impressions

"One Octopus Card, please." She tilts her right shoulder up, letting the strap slide closer to her neck. She fumbles for the freshly-exchanged, crisp, overpriced Hong Kong dollars.

She curses herself under her breath - cuz she just _had_ to stuff the money as fast as she could into her travel bag, working in the light of the blinding Travelex currency board.

 _Veronica Mars - walking paranoia._

Sometimes, she surprises herself.

"Regular?" The transportation officer mumbles through the glass barrier, his accent heavy with that unique blend of Britain and Asia.

 _There are other kinds?_

"Yes - for MTR." She wills him to understand.

He nods; and the shiny, thin, powerful card is dropped on the metal tray a second later.

She slips her bills across to the man - his face obscured by the obligatory surgical mask. He returns her clattering change in a blink of an eye.

 _Welcome to Hong Kong - the only place I feel less than ahead._

She shifts away from the circular counter to clear the way for the next customer.

Impatient, she tugs her all-black travel gear into the wider arrival area. She scans the counters nearby - wi-fi rental, car service, or complimentary tours - and almost groans in frustration.

Apparently, counting on an old friend to pick her up from a foreign airport isn't the most stellar idea she's had.

 _Especially when said old friend is tied up with a significant other._

She smells of airplane and itches from day-old sweat - and she's this close to rushing to the departure area just to rent a shower from the first airline lounge she sees.

 _How hard is it to spot a tiny blonde against all the glass and grey?_

"Po-mo-tion! Po-mo-tion!" A lady, accent thick, shoves a pile of glossy brochures into her hands. She grips them tight before they fall. The woman walks away without another word.

Idle, she leafs through the first two - one offering free wifi to tourists and another detailing Disneyland's latest attraction.

 _Cuz I somehow look like I'd like to hear Mickey speaking Chinese._

"Cantonese," she corrects herself out loud. The locals can be picky, after all.

The crowds of teary reunions and squealing families that necessarily follow any transpacific flight have already whittled down to a jagged few.

But where's her pickup?

 _Should've insisted I'd take the bus._

How hard could it be - really?

Her hands fly over her badge - displayed proudly in a bulky leather ID case - while her eyes scan the other side of the ginormous arrival hall. Can't have anyone else misidentifying Interpol as anything less.

Café de Coral, Tsui Wah, and the familiar McDonald's tease her from a distance. Her stomach, unsatisfied with airline fare, grumbles correspondingly.

 _Maybe I got time for a bite?_

Undecided, she leans slightly forward. The brochure insert that tumbles to the floor catches her by surprise. She glances down. The dark shades and dramatic photography strike a stark contrast against its colorful companions.

She picks it up.

"The next legendary woman rises - starring Sire Ma - 'Lotus,'" she reads, curious but unimpressed. Who knew Asian tag lines could be this cheesy?

But by the looks of this impressive spread, these people take their movies seriously.

"Miss Mars?"

She turns around at the crisp male voice. He sounds confident - firm. She catalogues his clean, western outfit - a complete American office attire sans tie. His ID nestles resolutely between the lapels of his suitjacket. She meets his thin-but-expressive brown eyes.

She smiles politely. "Sir?"

"Agent Leslie Leung." He extends a hand that she readily shakes. She notes how the thin lines on the edges of his eyes belie the age he has to be in order to be a senior agent.

 _The spikey black hair sure doesn't help._

It's funny what's considered professional in some circles.

She smiles as she releases his hand. "Veronica Mars. I assume Mac couldn't make it and had you pick me up?"

"Ah - right." He smiles mischeivously, a hand in his pocket. "I believe the correct order would be that _I_ am the agent sent to welcome you and Mackie here - "

He steps aside, revealing a compact brunette behind him, and adds, "is the one who tagged along."

 _Mac!_

"Mac!"

"Veronica!"

For a moment, she lets the girlishness take over. She could almost scoff at the image - two grown women relishing squeals and squeezes.

But, man, has she missed her.

"You have to tell me - "

"I'm taking you to - "

"Where are we - "

"You have got to meet - "

The series of unfinished sentences leaves the two friends giggling and without conclusion.

"Hey, girls." Leslie walks over, winning smile in place. "How about we take this to the car?"

* * *

The long, powerful cords supporting the Tsing Mah Bridge - at once masculine and feminine - flit through like a reel of old movie pictures. Behind them, cargo ships haul in their latest catch - intermodals worth of Prada, Chanel, and Louis Vuitton.

"Anything you're anxious to see in Hong Kong?" Mac's voice is smiling as widely as her lips.

Veronica turns to face her. "Hm - the tiled wall of a sturdy shower?"

Chuckles emanate from the front and back row. Another glance outside forces her to recollect for the nth time that Leslie is definitely not driving on the wrong side of the road.

"Seriously - not everyone has a car here, you know? Gotta make the most of it - right?" Mac punches Leslie playfully on the shoulder. He offers her a sincere, split-second smile.

"You've always been good at choosing beneficial boyfriends, you know," Veronica says, feeling all too lithe for someone on assignment, "Pet lovers, test answers - and the like?"

She smiles at Mac, expecting a chuckle.

All she gets a deep blush on her and a loud clearing of the throat from him.

 _Wait, they're not -_

"Oh, I'm sorry," she offers immediately, small pieces of information gathering together like a fluid mosaic. "It's been a while since we talked, and I thought you said his name was - "

"Luke," Mac adds - hastily, it seems, "Luke Leung."

"Leung?" The word tumbles out involuntarily.

"Uhm - Leslie's brother."

The two other people in the car exchange a knowing look in front of her - a mixture of understanding and regard.

 _Is she sure this one's not her guy?_

"Where are we headed?" She opts to ask instead.

Mac smiles, easing back to her normal self. "Leslie says that as a bigshot Interpol agent, you're entitled to the fanciest hotels in Tsim Sha Tsui."

She turns to Veronica - and winks. "But you wouldn't want that, would you?"

"You know, I've reconciled with quite a few 09ers over the years," Veronica replies, voice teasing. "Luxury ain't all that bad. I mean - "

"You're staying with me!" Mac erupts excitedly. "And don't you _dare_ call my flat anything less than luxurious."

"I shudder in fear."

"We all do," Leslie chimes from the driver's seat, earning another slap on the shoulder from Mac.

The playful banter lifts her spirits. Veronica smiles. "So - uhm, any updates on the case since I got stuck in that metal tube bird?"

"That metal tube bird is called Business Class, Veronica."

"Yes, Mac - I shall always remember to refer to your luxury standards before passing judgment."

"Deal."

The two girls grin at each other.

 _This is nice._

Somewhere along the way, the ocean views molt into four levels of concrete highways. Blocks of buildings - dozens of floors tall - sprout left and right.

"So?" The blonde presses.

"Not taking a break, Agent Mars?" Leslie talks over the back of his seat. "You'll fit right in around here."

"Please," she looks at Mac. The brunette smiles - permission granted. "Call me Veronica."

Twenty minutes later, they emerge from dark tunnel shades into a glorious, bustling city center. Cackling trams, honking buses, swarms of pedestrians, and towering skyscrapers line up on their left - while the ocean glistens to their right. Advertisements of various sizes, from signboards of the latest Maxim mooncake promotion to giant prints of Sire Ma's face spanning the expanse of double-deck buses, form a visual cacophany.

Mac patiently narrates as they view the gloating triangles of the Bank of China Tower or the triumphant waves of the Exhibition Centre. The latter, according to Mac, signals home.

And if the rest of this trip's going to be as breathtaking as her first hour - she'll gladly slueth here for another ten years.

* * *

The elevator shoots up faster than she thought sound probably travelled. She steps, out, slightly out of sorts, into the pristine, marble-floored hallway.

"Thirty-ninth floor? Really?" Vanity prevents her from extending a steadying hand on the nearest wall.

Chuckles escape both her companions, again.

"It's quite moderate for Hong Kong, actually." Mac leads the way to the left-most apartment door. "Didn't notice that you couldn't see the top of the building from the ground?"

"Cuz I totally could from the covered entrance area where your boy - your friend here dropped us off in luxury." Sarcasm - the ever-companion of embarrassment.

Leslie, chivalrously handling the luggage, laughs behind her. "Don't get used to it, Veronica. Mac here - her boss's favorite - has one of the highest-paid jobs on the island."

Veronica notices the blush on Mac's face.

"I'm _not_ his favorite!" She protests politely, pushing the door open after the key-card beep.

"You are!" Leslie smiles back, pulling the luggage in after them.

Veronica feels strangely trapped in the middle of a lovers' quarrel.

"I'm not!" Mac disagrees again.

"You are and you know it," Leslie responds, chuckling, as he rounds them up indoors.

Choosing to ignore the brewing polite-fight, Veronica focuses on her temporary home for the rest of her stay. She smiles, deeply surrpised.

 _Well, look who's living the high life?_

Laminated wood runs the length and breadth of the entire apartment. The dining area to their right sports a modern glass table and glossy black chairs. A handful of steps forward, a lush beige couch leans agains the accent wall, basking in the light from the large bay window.

Between the dining and living area, she notices the entrance to a narrow hallway.

"So - I take the couch?" Veronica offers playfully when she sees how satisfied Mac seems at her friend's obvious approval.

"I'm not _that_ horrible of a hostess, Veronica." Mac links arms with her guest. "You - Agent Mars - are sharing the room with me."

Mac's blitheful smile meets her dubious frown.

"What?" asks the software engineer.

"If I'm staying in your room - uhm, what about - Luke?"

Mac drops her hand right away. She turns to nowhere in particular and shrugs. "He doesn't live with me."

"Right - uhm, sorry for assuming."

A palpable awkwardness settles over the room. The open layout suddenly feels not so open, after all.

"So," Leslie picks it up - he seems to always do, "how about we get Veronica settled?"

The girls agree right away, and they maneuver Veronica's things down the hallway. Veronica notes the existence of yet another bedroom.

 _So why shouldn't I stay -_

"Mac!" A gruff male voice exclaims. They all focus on the tall, thin, frowning man emerging from the master suite. His dress shirt's crumpled around the shoulders, implying an hour of reclining. His hair - though cut neatly - appears oily and thick.

"Luke," Mac says then, obviously surprised.

 _But why doesn't she look happy?_

Veronica watches as Mac gives her boyfriend a half-hearted hug - the overcrowded hallway heightening its awkwardness.

"You brought a friend?" Luke asks curtly. His arm anchors Mac firmly by his side.

"Uhm, yes," Mac mumbles. "Luke, this is Veronica. She's in Hong Kong for a case. She'll be staying with me as long as she's here."

Mac's voice grows stronger with every sentence. Her last one sounds almost resolute.

"Ah," Luke says simply.

 _This guy is unreadable._

"Could I help Veronica get settled?" Mac asks, unusually submissive.

 _Girl, this is YOUR house._

"Yeah," Luke huffs shortly. "Sure."

Without another word, he weaves himself out the small hallway, giving his brother a dark glare on the way.

Veronica feels two other sighs of relief along her own.

She looks at Mac. "I take it the brothers don't get along?"

Mac shrugs.

* * *

"This is all we've got on him?" Veronica peers over the documents spread over the dining table. Each picture and file owns its own spot amidst the mosaic of organized chaos. Her slipper-clad feet swing back and forth under the table.

"We've got leads." Leslie cocks his head over his coffee. "But the only substantial evidence we have is against his sidekicks, not him."

"He's got sidekicks in Hong Kong?"

"What's a villain without his sidekicks?" Leslie grins grimly. He picks up two mug shots of uncannily similar men. "The twins have been hired muscle since their teens. They've served time, but there's never been sufficient evidence to stick them in there for long."

"And now they've gone international." Veronica takes the photos from him.

"Yup - _very."_

"Very?" She looks at him - his intelligent eyes and slim frame - over the pictures.

"They were implicated in a case with a Japanese dealer before this."

"Ah."

"Yeah." Leslie shrugs. "But still - nothing sticks."

"And Ramón?"

"Hottest new star in the Hong Kong mafia scene." Leslie picks up an activity log. "The local folks love him. He's been spotted having dimsum with the best and brightest among them at least once a day. He's got plenty of suitors, that's for sure."

"Local druglords?"

"Druglords, assassins, whatnots." Leslie sighs. "Everyone wants the guy on their side."

"To be fair, assassination ring leaders _are_ pretty good to have on your side." She smiles.

Leslie offers a mirthless chuckle. "But we still got no blood on him."

"Not even for an interrogation?"

"Nope." He shakes his head. "At this rate, we'd have better chances of meeting him if we pretended to turn bad and call him 'Ray _ko_.'"

" _Ko_?"

"Cantonese for big brother."

She raises her brows.

"Yup, he's _that_ already."

Veronica frowns at the spread before her. "Ramón Santiago was never that big of deal back home. Didn't expect the rock stardom here."

"None of us did." Leslie leans back against the glossy blackness. His right arm slings over the back of the chair beside him. "The guy's a genius at marketing himself. Now he's got free bodyguards left and right."

"We have _nothing_ then?"

"He's been known to carry around a gun."

"Illegally."

"Yup."

"Then why don't we - "

"His schedule's been unpredictable, and he's been flanked left and right - there's no getting him alone."

"At all?"

The ends of Leslie's lips curl up into an unexpected smile. "Until tonight."

"Still got aces up those sleeves, huh?"

"Of course." He grins - at Mac.

Veronica watches her friend return the grin with a sweet smile of her own.

 _What's going on?_

"You guys are close, huh?"

"What?" Leslie's turns back, eyes wide; then he frowns.

Veronica cocks her head towards where Mac is snuggled on her sofa, watching the noontime news with surprising interest.

Leslie's frown deepens, while his ears grow pink.

"Well?" Veronica prods.

"We - get along," he offers lamely. He sighs. Then, with sudden resolve, he looks up. "She's my _a-sou_ , my older brother's girl. Of course we're close."

"Right."

"Yes." His voice is resolutely un-negotiating.

"Cool."

The partners, so new and yet so deep into their acquaintance, fall silent for a moment. Sometimes, instantly seeing through people like a piercing arrow _doesn't_ really help.

"So, about tonight," she offers amends, "where's he gonna be?"

Leslie smiles, normality restored. "Apparently, the guy's a _huge_ fan of Sire Ma, and he's paid big bucks to be at the movie premiere tonight."

"Movie." Her mind flits through the advertisements she's been drowning in all day - Sire Ma, legendary woman, bestselling author. "Lotus?"

"Very observant," Leslie remarks wryly.

"Thanks." She rolls her eyes. "It isn't easy for someone who doesn't read pictographs around here, you know?"

Leslie grins. "Well, good thing the crowd will speak English tonight."

"Gotta glam up for the job, huh? I should've brought my heels."

Leslie laughs - outright. "It's not an American spy movie around here, Veronica. Our roles aren't quite _that_ glamorous."

"Works for me." She crosses her arms, embarrassed.

He smiles. "Come on, you'll be fine. With the American press around tonight, you'll fit right in. Besides, all eyes will be on Logan Echolls."

* * *

 _A/N: With every new story I create, I bind myself to a new commitment to finish it. Oh what have I done? I hope you liked this! It's a big LoVe letter to one of my most favorite cities in the world._


	2. Little Women

_No glitz nor glamour._

She fights the urge to scratch that annoying spot under her wig.

 _Cuz the Hong Kong police fashion department has horrible taste._

Hands buried into her hoodie pockets, she sighs under her breath as she jogs towards the manic hoards. Even with their backs to her, the multilingual shouting, waving limbs, and fast-clicking cameras make the wall of papparazzi a formidable barrier between her current spot and the actual red carpet leading into the brand new, five-star Theatre 88.

"Three feet to the right," Leslie reminds over the comms. Assured he could see her well from his spot, she nods - and rolls her eyes.

 _I mean, Leslie's nice and all..._

She sighs again, frowning, as she shifts closer to the tiny alley between the skyscrapers.

 _But I didn't come all the way from Washington to play Reporter One._

A handful of small, strategic steps takes her right next to the alley entrance. She gives the row of emergency exits a quick glance, contemplating the increasing difficulty of cracking those locks amidst the fast-descending tropical darkness.

 _Twilight doesn't exist around here._

"Mars?" A much deeper voice, previously introduced only as 'Leslie's boss' to her, calls over the comms.

After a quick scan behind her, she slips into the alley. Her small frame lets her slide deper in with perfect ease. She presses her microphone closer, momentarily acknowledging the actual ingenuity of having her wear a wig the exact color of everybody's else's hair. "Sir?"

"The code is 168588," he speaks slowly, enunciating every number with a thick Oriental accent.

 _Does everyone like the same numbers around here?_

She punches - presses, rather - them into the digital keypad.

" _Mat ma pat hap,_ " the machine announces softly.

She tries again.

" _Mat ma pat hap,_ " it repeats.

She frowns. "Heard that?"

"Yes, they changed their password." The simple statement would sound comical if not for the man's formal tone. "Try this one: 1989668."

She applies it immediately.

 _"Mat ma pat hap."_

She frowns, frustrated. It takes zero effort on her part to understand that the new line of text beneath the keypad means that she's one mistake away from sounding the alarm.

"Hung Sir, Leslie," she whispers into her comms, still adjusting to having the man's surname come first, "anything else?"

She hears shuffling and tense Cantonese discussion.

 _Guess I'm not the only one lost._

"Hey!"

She turns at the sharp cry. At the other end of the alley, a block's length away, a burly security officer frowns at her – and then runs _at_ her.

Her legs takes only a second to sprint decidedly the other way.

"Hey! Hey! _Mo jao ah!_ " The man's outbursts grow louder as his steps draw nearer.

Frantic, Veronica runs as fast as her legs would take her.

 _Busted the very first day on duty - good job, Veronica._

She groans loudly. A wave of screams rolls over from the multitudes of fans - double in size since her pre-alley visit - and seeps into the alley.

 _Just a little more._

"Hey!" The officer's words sound tired. His voice heaves.

Stopping abruptly, she spares a look behind her.

 _Oh._

Guess fat - copious amounts of it - can easily appear to be muscle a block away. She stifles the laugh that's bubbling out of her chest.

"Stop!" The officer finally shouts in English, as he draws to a close five feet away. "You - who you?"

She remembers her badge - the fake one.

" _Gei Ze_ ," she recalls the word for reporter, lifting her press ID - freshly minted from the office.

Another surge of hysterical screaming and fast-shuttered clicks hails from the hordes of people outside the dazzling theatre entrance. Convinced that the man could never outrun her, Veronica smirks and points behind her.

"Work," she pronounces, and she runs off with a grin.

* * *

The abundance of generous sidewalks in the heart of an overpopulated city has fascinated her since that morning. The ratio simply felt - unrealistic. But at this moment, at this place - with the seas of paparazzi, reporters, and fans on the gravel, she'd be lucky enough to find a spot standing on one of her size-5 feet.

" _Mm Koi, Mm Koi!"_

The universal words for 'thank you' and 'excuse me' sprout left and right as she proceeds once more unto the breach. It can't be _that_ hard, right?

Right?

She feels unusually bulky as she squeezes her way between slim Asian shoulders. It's practically unfathomable how this sweaty sea of insanity is consistently deemed worth the trouble by entertainment source after source.

 _But hey, what do I know?_

"Ouch!" She winces as a rough shove pulls at her leather jacket - and her wig. She rights it with some effort.

 _Guess courtesy's ain't a thing in this line of work._

A wave of shrieks assaults her from the left. She tiptoes, peering over raised cameras and waving hands, as she continues to thread her way towards the actual red carpet.

 _They want front row seats, they get front row seats._

She's doubted the wisdom the moment she received the order. But hey - it's Asia. What does she know?

"Alan _ko_!" The man beside her hollers.

"Over here!" The lady behind her screams.

"Here! Here!" Various voices struggle for attention.

A few steps beyond her, suave in his self-assurance, Alan King, director of 'Lotus,' strikes his most impressive pose. She feels the charm oozing despite the row of heads between her and the actual film hero.

 _Can't fault the fangirls._

She whispers a handful more ' _mm koi's,_ inching her way forward, to no avail. The front row is staked out where they are for a reason.

Frustrated, she lets the crowd settle about her for a moment. Who knows? Maybe sliding forward would work better than squeezing. Seeming to notice her intent, the surrounding crowds push tighter in.

 _Oxygen, people._

She shuffles - without limited success. The pushing, the screaming, the sweating, and the shoving all layer upon each other, creating a suffocating dome. For a quick, intense second, her claustrophobia threatens to flare.

Instantly, she closes her eyes. Her mind seeks the designated comfort - bacon, breakfast, snuggling on the couch. She inhales and exhales, inhales and exhales, inhales and -

"Ah!" The piercing screams knocks her back to the present.

Her eyes fly open to multiple denim jackets bumping back and forth against each other. Cameras click at absurd shutter speeds. Massive numbers of shouts and hollers form a sonic blur.

 _Seriously, what is wrong with you people?_

She pushes her way forward with renewed determination. At the back of her mind, she could almost make out the words being mumbled left and right: words like 'handsome,' 'writer,' 'American,' or 'genius' - all words Leslie had deemed necessary for their impromptu session of Cantonese 101.

After two very unladylike shoves, only one man remains between her and the coveted photo spot. She takes a very, very deep breath.

 _Here goes nothing._

She lurches forward, ready to replace the current spot dictator with a well-planned hip check. Her left hand finds the red ropes cordoning off the carpet; her right hand finds her rival's left shoulder. She propels herself forward - just when he steps back.

The weight imbalance hits her immediately, and she tumbles forward against the velvet ropes. The shrieks and faces fall one on top of another into a confusing mess as she feels herself hitting the ground.

Well-trained, she flips herself over and upright in a single second.

And she looks up - at a dashing Logan Echolls.

* * *

The collective glare of flash photography and the communal screaming feel, unfortunately for him, extremely familiar. He comforts himself for a moment that with a story set, cast, and filmed in Hong Kong, this premiere is inevitably going to be the largest one.

 _It'll be all downhill from now - thankfully._

He can hear his agent barking at him at the back of his mind: "Smile! Wave! Be friendly!"

He smiles for a moment. Jewel, despite the pretentious name, is calm, efficient, and grouchy - and she's the only good thing to have come out of this entire Hong Kong mania.

The smile he's put on for private thoughts doesn't escape public attention. In a flurry of action, he's placed front and center on the red carpet, with reporters yelling left and right in broken English phrases.

"Here! Here!"

"Hello!"

"Welcome!"

"Here!"

"You smiling! Who lucky girl?"

"Date!"

"Here!"

Writing has drawn him from the extrovert's circle to the introvert's haven. The party scene - is not his scene, not for a while. Two premieres as grand like this one - in Berlin and Cairo, respectively - have done little to ease his comfort.

But this is work, and it has to be done.

Logan puts on his game face, smiling suavely at the barricade of cameras and jackets and microphones. He doesn't wave, doesn't think it wise; but he nods knowingly at the crowds. The fangirls, camped out behind the press, wave posters from his last photo op. He ponders for a moment how united fandoms tend to be across ethnic and political lines.

He's written about strong, young, petite girls set in three different cities by now - but the public still gobbles it up.

"Echo, Echo!"

He figures that's supposed to be his last name and turns around with a smile.

"No lady?" the man in the front row asks, gesturing wildly in an attempt to pantomime a girl in a dress.

Logan almost grumbles. Faced with the scrutiny of a foreign press, he wonders if he should have been more persuasive in telling Jewel to ditch professionalism and pretend to be his date for the evening.

The woman announced, of course, that she wouldn't be caught dead in a dress.

He huffs as subtlely as he can manage and smiles at the man. "Girl?"

The reported nods manically, seemingly overjoyed that he got his meaning across.

"Do I need one?"

The crowds seem to understand that one and roar approvingly.

Logan smiles, ready to deny any attachment, when a handful of unpleasant Berlin memories re-emerge. His face falls.

 _Can't have that happen again._

He shakes his head at the recollection of underaged escorts, pimped up to ridiculous measure, paraded into his hotel room last year as the local team asked him to 'pick one, or two.'

Even the memory's disgusting.

"Nobody?" The man presses.

Logan contemplates his options. Then, smiling, he stage-whispers, "I have someone. She's not here."

The man frowns uncomprehensively. Logan weighs the risks of creating a farce he'd be loathed to maintain.

Then, in the flash of an eye, the man steps back, a small figure lurches forward - tumbles over the ropes - sends a mop of black hair flying - and lands on the carpet in front of him.

He pulls back just a little, noting the small limbs and blond hair.

 _Modern girl ninja?_

He doesn't have to wonder for long before the person tumbles, turns, and looks up straight into his face.

 _Ah._

He almost laughs at the irony.

But her wide-eyed expression tells him she might not find it all quite as funny as he does.

"Secure!" He hears Jewel yell in the background. Heavy steps on the carpet inform him that bodyguards are closing in.

He looks back at Veronica and her still-bewildered eyes.

 _You're cute when you're surprised._

In a split-second decision, he stoops down, grabs her by the arm, and pulls her tautly by his side. He meets her eyes in the most tender gaze he can muster last-minute. Then he says, very loudly, "I'm so glad you came."

She stares back - shocked, for once, he reckons - as he places a loud, affectionate smooch on her forehead.

As expected, the security guards pause and then back away. He knows for a fact that she's noticed.

A stray reporter yells a few feet away, "Is that your girlfriend?"

Grinning, he spins them around to face the crowd. "Yes."

* * *

In a cruel twist of events, she's stuck with the choice of charading as the latest celebrity arm candy or blowing her cover in front of international press. Still deciding, she dutifully trails Logan, guided by the hand he's using to hold hers. The sight of the security entail - all one dozen of the largest Asian men she's ever seen - keeps her from indulging any Jackie Chan escape sequence fantasies.

The fans and reporters roar in approval whenever they stray from the carpet center to hover near. The constant flash photography guarantees that pictures of the hotshot author and his mysterious new paramour - a girl who made the world's weirdest surprise entrance - will be on every gossip website by 10 o'clock tonight.

"Ready for dinner and movie?"

His low whisper, offered so closely to her ear as he leans in behind her, sends protestable shivers down her spine. She tries to ignore the hand he has on her waist and, displaying a rehearsed camera smile, whispers back, "They got buffets in the theatre?"

"Nope. Could've had them set up for you if it hasn't been such a - surprise."

The way he breathes the word 'surprise' into her ear creates a cascade of goosebumps from the base of her neck, across her shoulders, down her arms, and to her fingertips.

 _Why did I think I could take this assignment unaffected again?_

Her own professions, confidently announced to the police station just this afternoon, feel ridiculously small.

"Mars?"

She jumps at the realization that her comms are still live. She feels Logan's eyes fixed on her face in a questioning glance as she assures the team, under her breath and with great embarrassment, that everything's fine. Intending to sound as deliberate as she can, she also promises to watch out for Santiago inside.

"Where will I be seated?" She repeats the inquiry softly, glancing at Logan. The frenzied paparazzi seem to fade into an irrelevant background. She watches Logan as he, grinning proudly, pulls out a royal flush of VIP seat tickets from his jacket pocket. She rolls her eyes at the flashy display, begrudgingly thankful, and reports, "find the best seats in the house, and you'll find me."

"Good job, Mars," the words hit her ears.

 _He thinks this is intentional?_

"Find Ray _Ko,_ " the boss adds.

"Yes, sir."

She feels a huge weight lifting when the comms go quiet. Satisfied, she looks up, only to see the strangely apologetic smile on Logan's face.

"What?"

He seems to hesitate between a grim look and a mischievous smile, letting his face shift multiple times, before finally settling on the latter. "My agent's rushing at us. I'll tell her you're staying."

Veronica suddenly feels the heavy thuds of approaching boots behind her.

"But if you're staying," he continues, "she's _so_ gonna dress you up."

She finds herself whisked away before the words even set in.

* * *

 _A/N: Theatre 88, while inspired by certain Hong Kong movie houses, is entirely fictional. Most of the places in the story, however, are not. In other news, I found a real-life Logan and Veronica! Google magician Justin Flom and his wife. They're so cute. I hope this chapter was fun to read!_


	3. The Moviegoer

"Look, I don't know if you understand English," Veronica squeezes in every word she can as Jewel hustles her into the coat room, "but I am _not_ his girlfriend. You don't have to dress me up or doll me up or whatever. I mean, seriously."

"He said girlfriend, you girlfriend," Jewel replies, glaring impatiently, as she sends Veronica a dramatic eye roll.

 _Didn't know that was a thing in Asia._

"Okay. Take off clothes."

 _What?_

"Excuse me?" Veronica backs away, fighting the urge to cross her hands in front of her chest like a defensive tween in front of a handsy first boyfriend.

"Change, change." Jewel gestures up and down her reporter-wear ensemble. She splits each word into two syllables, the second part of each word sounding like a harsh pronunciation of the letter J, hands signing what her lips won't communicate. Obviously frustrated, she sighs loudly before she marches a few steps away, retrieves what looks like a roll of fabric from a shelf, and shoves it into her small hands.

Veronica looks down at the soft pink folds.

"Change. Dress." Jewel's gesturing again. "Take off clothes."

The chuckles that travel over her comms are _extremely_ annoying.

"Shut up," she barks into the line.

"What?" Jewel demands, hands on her hips.

 _Cuz she had to know what THAT meant._

"No, not you," Veronica explains half-heartedly. "So, I'm supposed to wear this dress?"

"Yes, yes." Jewel nods emphatically, seemingly relieved that her foreign ditz is comprehending at last. "Dress."

"Could I at least change by myself in here?"

"Change. Fast. I wait."

"Alright, alright, I will."

* * *

His face lights up on its own accord when she sees her in her pale pink, strapless dress, forcing her way down the row. Her hair's been pinned up, drawing focus to her features. Even cursing left and right at uncooperative viewers, she's like a shining candle in a dark room.

 _Always commanding 100% of my attention._

He slides his elbow on to the wooden armrest and leans his chin on his hand, assuming the most suave pose he could manage while seated in an overcrowded, sweaty, overwhelmingly crimson movie theatre. He makes sure to catch her eye as she closes in on the home stretch, stepping over the last few pairs of knees before tumbling on to the small space beside him.

"Well, you clean up nice," he quips, smiling.

She plops herself on the designated empty seat, unimpressed. "You just _had_ to sit in the smack middle of the row, didn't you?"

"It's called VIP seats, darling." He grins. "Thanks for making the effort."

"Jewel would kill me if I didn't. I'm pretty sure I have a red dot trained on the back of my neck right now."

 _Ah, snark levels, full._

"Is my agent really that scary?"

"You mean you _chose_ to work with that crazy woman?" She looks up at him, eyes wide. "I used to trust your judgment, you know."

"I still think you're the most handsome woman of my acquaintance. That works?"

"Austen? Really?"

If she's trying to make him feel bad, she's failing. He shrugs. "We writers run in the same circles."

"Friends in high places. Color me impressed." Her voice grows gentler.

He smiles. "And Hollywood is always just a half step behind."

It's her turn to nod as she props further back on the seat. "I've heard about _Ashes_ and, uhm, _Mist?_ "

 _Sweet._

"Yup," he's happy to confirm. Then another thought occurs. He frowns slightly. "So you - just somehow didn't hear about _Lotus_?"

"I knew the title." She half-shrugs. "Didn't know there's a big movie showing in Hong Kong until this morning."

"Ah."

"Sorry. I've been - kinda under a rock recently."

"Oh?" He raises a brow.

She looks at the screen in front, her eyes trail the golden edges as he waits patiently. " _This_ isn't exactly encouraging of social life."

It takes him a second to notice the corner of a very official-looking badge peeking out of her Louis Vuitton clutch, just under her elbow. Given the size of the clutch, she's probably got a firearm in there somewhere. He colors _himself_ impressed by Jewel's foresight.

 _But just how much did the woman notice?_

He clears his throat, acknowledging Veronica's wordless confidence, and she promptly tucks the badge away. A loud voice announces in Cantonese that the movie's starting in another two minutes.

"So," she's suddenly whispering close to his ear. He stays still, listening. "Are you helping me?"

He turns to look at her, contemplating her earnest gaze just for a handful of seconds, and nods. "How high?"

The smile she offers him, despite emergency makeup, is full of something halfway between relief and mischief.

"I'm looking for someone."

He reads her lips to make sure he's getting it all correct. He mouths back, "Who?"

"VIP."

The sudden, drastic dimming of the lights hushes the room at last, and he finds himself incapable of speaking without anyone eavesdropping.

"Lo?" Her voice sounds almost timid.

"Don't worry." He grabs her hand in the dark. He keeps his voice as soft as he can. "We'll get your guy."

* * *

"Now for the man whose idea started it all," the glittering emcee declares dramatically, practically preening in the spotlight, as the crowds applaud what was - even she admits - a stellar movie. The host gestures straight at her - companion. "Mista Logan Echo!"

The crowds erupt in thunderous claps and standing ovations. She finds herself standing soon, despite not seeing a thing either way, as the impeccably dressed Logan-in-a-tux makes his way out into the aisle - and plants a smooch on her cheek along the way.

She knows she'll wipe away the sloppy saliva if she's by herself.

So she's a tiny tad thankful she's not.

"Weucome! Weucome!" The master of ceremonies gives Logan a rapturous handshake followed by an awkward hug. The crowds settle back down to their seats.

Logan smiles politely, and she can tell he's slightly uncomfortable.

 _Somehow, grown-up Logan's never the ringmaster he used to be._

He turns to give the audience a dashing, winning smile.

 _Or maybe not._

She finds herself smiling at him like their first romance just started yesterday.

"Anything?" The crackling sound coming through her comms sounds strangely foreign amidst her polished surroundings.

She leans on her hand, fingers pressing the clear earpiece firmly against her head, while sporting her smitten girlfriend look. "No."

 _Sounds less conspicuous than 'negative' - right?_

"No sight of him?"

She recognizes Leslie's voice and feels a slight pang of guilt regarding her inattention.

 _The movie was good - sue me._

She feels slightly unsettled at the realization that maybe they actually _can_ sue her if she botches the case.

"I want to thank everyone for this wonderful occasion," Logan's voice travels all over the suffocating theatre. Despite the grand finishings, Hong Kong space is Hong Kong space.

 _You'll be lucky to get three square feet to yourself._

Feeling unusually tall with the crowd seated all around her, she settles in a bit.

"I wrote 'Lotus' as a tribute to strong young women who make a way for themselves in Asia," Logan continues in front, rehearsed and polished. "I am proud to work with so many such women during the production of this film."

The pride rising inside her is immediately squished away by the adoring look in starlet Sire Ma's eyes as she looks up at Logan, her right arm crossing behind him as the producers and principal cast form a shoulder-to-shoulder straight line of locked arms.

 _Back off, little girl._

Yes, yes - she's just short, but whatever.

 _She's barely taller than I am - movie star._

She rustling in her ear makes her feel guilty _again._

Unwilling to admit any level of neglect, she tears her eyes away from Logan and on to the people around her. As one of the few dozen caucasians in the room, she knows she sticks out.

 _But an official girlfriend has the right to be curious, right?_

To her left, a handful of politicians put on bored faces as their wives gaze longingly on the stage.

 _Does everyone want him?_

Right in front of her, an entire row of Hong Kong film elite listen respectfully to Logan's speech.

To her right, she sees a tall, burly man. Long hair pulled back in a man bun, his profile looks plain enough. She's about to turn away when a shorter man behind the huge slab of muscle leans forward, revealing a _very_ familiar face.

"Santiago," she whispers into her mic, the small dot tucked neatly into her neckline.

"And you are all part of this journey as well," on stage, Logan continues.

She barely has time to notice his earnest gaze as she lifts off her chair, the seat propping up automatically behind her, and lunges towards her right. She crosses the empty seat beside her - and hears Logan's voice, loud and distinct and firm, booming across the rows, "And I would like my _girlfriend_ , who surprised me so much today, to join me on stage."

The crowd, fidgety by now, applauds heartily.

Finding all eyes on her, she turns to face the stage. Logan looks - deliberate, as if he's willing her to get up beside him.

She cocks her head. He gives an almost imperceptible nod.

Then in her peripheral vision, she sees a sneering Santiago giving her a once over.

 _Don't blow your cover._

So she puts on a smile and makes her way down.

* * *

"Hey," he whispers against her hair. Her posture stays rigid despite the arm he has around her. He's grateful for her ability to at least sport a credible stage smile.

The entire audience is standing and clapping - probably more from boredom than genuine happiness, and he keeps his sigh as invisible as he can.

 _Gotta keep my cool._

When the host - in his shimmery splendor of a suit - gestures gleefully towards the two of them, he drops another kiss on Veronica's crown.

As expected, the applause surges.

But even the noise can't cancel out her low, pensive whisper. "Whatcha doing?"

He pulls her closer, fake smile plastered all over his media-ready face, and he feels her slide her arm behind him in response. He replies, voice thin, "Don't get hasty. Not here."

He sees her eyes scanning the four corners of the theatre surreptitiously. He notes how her jaw clenches at the sight of the security entail covering each exit.

"After-party," he whispers again, still smiling for the cameras.

"I'm invited?"

He turns away from the audience to look at her. The way her smile angles indicates a mixture of doubt and wonder.

 _Glad you haven't changed._

He smiles deeper - and plants a kiss on her cheek. The crowd roars. "How can I pass up the arm candy?"

"Ah, that epithet, I believe, belongs to you."

He can't help smiling as he feels the row behind them approaching for a final group picture.

In a spur of the moment, he reaches around her and pulls her in by the waist. He drops his forehead to meet hers. "Remember, we're supposed to be madly in love, so it's all right to kiss me anytime you feel like it."

The laugh she offers is as refreshing as morning spring rain. She smiles at him - not fake anymore - he can tell.

"Hunger Games - really?"

"Same circles." He grins.

* * *

Despite having to brave the menace of an entire wall of hungry paparazzi upon arrival, the party itself brims with more invitation than intimidation. Every item, from tablecloth to flowers, seems to have some sponsor's logo on it. Everything, after all, is happier free.

She slides her hand around Logan's back - his lower back, out of necessity - for the fifth time since they entered as they approach yet another self-important-looking man.

"Alan King - the director who brought everything on the page to the script and then to life." Logan introduces with a smile, manners silky smooth.

"Nice to meet you." She finds herself reaching her hand out like a medieval heroine.

 _Cut it out, Cinderella._

She's lucky Mr. King seems to find her action perfectly normal and charming. But she can see Logan's grin out of the corner of her eye as the director places a kiss on the back of her hand - and for the next three seconds, she very badly wants to punch her ex-boyfriend.

 _Or current boyfriend, depending whom you ask._

"We are _so_ happy to see you join us." The stout man smiles affectedly.

 _Yo, Alan's laying it on thick._

"I'm so happy to experience this all with Logan." She leans into her current - acting buddy. His hand presses firmly against her shoulder in response. "It's been so long."

Knowing he's probably all schmoopy right now, she doesn't dare look at Logan - but she sure can feel him having no qualms staring back. She almost blushes from the warmth that always accompanies his gaze.

 _Always? What?_

The next introduction, this time to the first of four executive producers, saves her from thinking too much. Then another ten introductions later, she realizes that this cover - more than the lousy reporter profile - gives far superior access to everyone that actually matters.

 _I mean, seriously, who thought I'd look Asian as long as they plopped a gamer girl wig on me?_

The recollection of Hung Sir's commands, still hovering stealthily in her ear, sobers her up in no time.

"What's wrong?" She's surprised to hear Logan whisper.

"Huh?" She looks up, faltering at her staged nonchalance. She grips him closer. "What's wrong?"

"You stiffened up - like, a lot." He whispers against her forehead, too wise to let others notice anything off.

And she's ridiculously thankful for that. "I - just thought of - him."

"Right."

She's suddenly extremely thankful for the ten minutes of privacy they had in the car before this circus began. Logan's smart - she'll give him that - and he understood her need to find Ramon Santiago with very little prompting.

"This way," she hears by her ear, and her heart twists just a little at the comfort.

He leads them across the chattering ballroom, under the decadent golden chandeliers, to the other end. She feels for a moment that they're gliding - like a pair of Olympic skaters across fresh ice.

 _He's rubbing off you, Veronica._

She huffs at her own dramatics. He's the writer - not she.

It takes her a couple of seconds to notice they've stopped walking - or gliding, whatever. She looks up. He returns her gaze with a quizzical look.

 _What?_

"You found him?" Hung Sir's voice cackles over the comms. She feels another pang of guilt.

"Yes," she replies bluntly, "will get him."

"Good. Good."

 _Where's charming Leslie when I need him?_

The man may be in authority, but Hung Sir sure needs to learn a thing or two about espionage.

A gentle nudge on her shoulder has her looking up again - at an even more charming Logan Echolls. She feels a tad guilty at having used the word to describe any other human being.

"We're almost there." He offers, using the coaxing voice she recognizes from a decade ago.

She nods wordlessly.

 _Cuz what am I supposed to do when I actually see him?_

Hung Sir had plenty of ideas to bring in the man, to the point of insisting that she plant a weapon if she doesn't find one on him.

 _But what would that make me?_

After a childhood traumatized by corrupt, incompetent cops - she's sworn never to be one of them.

"Hey - "

"I need some water," she blurts out before she stomps away.

"Vero - "

She hears him stop himself before calling out her full name, and she feels a familiar pride surging within her. But being still at a loss regarding how she's supposed to do her job of bringing Ray _Ko_ in, she hardly notices the cocktail waitress heading her way.

"Oomph!" She tumbles to the ground - for the second time in the last six hours.

"Vee!" Logan's by her side in an instant. She sees him picking spots as he leans forward, as if avoiding certain patches of - something. "Are you okay?"

"Uhm, yes," she mumbles, finding comfort in the familiar face beside her.

 _Cuz how embarrassing is it for an agent to just - fall? TWICE?_

She could practically hear Hung Sir's lecturing, and she scrambles for a way to make _this_ seem as deliberate as her last blunder. At the back of her mind, she finds it disconcerting that she could be so blind to something as large as an approaching tray of drinks.

Unless she wasn't?

Still contemplating the possibility of a deliberate sabotage, she lowers her hands to pivot herself up - until they land on clear, sharp, cruel shards of glass.

* * *

The hem of her grey silk pajamas slide over familiarly over the glossy wooden floor. She glances at her Rolex, its golden weight heavy on her wrist. The two hands are almost aligned at Cinderella's curfew.

 _Sure took her a while._

She flings the door open thoughtlessly, ready to hug her friend.

"Leslie?" Her brows furrow. Face dark, the Interpol agent leans against the door frame, supporting his weight by an extended left arm. He's traded in his usual smoothness, looking disheveled as he pants dejectedly.

 _What happened?_

"You wanna come in?" Mac steps aside to give him way. Leslie staggers in wordlessly before sitting down on the nearest dining chair.

 _Why didn't he use his key?_

She watches Leslie's frown deepen. His right hand stays clenched atop her glass dining table.

Worried, she closes the door and walks over, her hand finding his shoulder. "What happened?"

Leslie sighs heavily.

"Hung Sir?" It wouldn't be the first time the cop rants about his overbearing boss.

"No," he finally speaks, voice low. He hangs his head momentarily before looking up at her. "It's Veronica."

She feels her pulse quicken, and she desperately summons her composure as it threatens to slip away. She grips his shoulder a little more tightly. "Is she okay?"

"I think so - and hope so." He shrugs a little. "We lost touch with her at the after-party. Sounded like a crash of sorts."

 _Crash._

"But she's alive, right?"

"Of course. They were photographed leaving. Paparazzi had a field day," Leslie practically laments the last part. "But now she's stuck with him, and we don't know how to extract her without alerting anyone else."

"Him?" Her mind contemplates a dozen possibilities.

"Logan Echolls - star author."

 _Ah._

She finds Leslie's worry almost comical for a moment, before remembering his limited knowledge.

"She'll be fine," she offers comfort instead, shifting to sit on the chair beside him. "She and Logan go way back. He'll help her."

The vulnerable hope in Leslie's eyes almost disconcerts her.

"He will?"

"Yes," she confirms, her hand threatening to reach for his on its own accord.

 _But I don't really have a reason to -_

"You haven't messed up." She grips his hand anyway. "She'll find a way to be in touch - I promise."

His forlorn eyes start to edge towards recovery.

"Okay." He squeezes her back.

She smiles.

* * *

 _A/N: Okay, here's the thing...there seems to be limited interest in this story compared to my other premises. Could you let me know what's keeping you from being fully committed? Thank you! And thank you for everyone who encourages me despite the slow updates. Life's been so demanding recently. Thank you for your patience! Please leave your thoughts!_


	4. Invisible Man

She comes to her senses gradually, like a slowly-dispersing fog, as she blinks the blur away.

 _Where am I again?_

"Are you okay?"

She turns to her right, catching Logan's earnest gaze. His eyes look tired, but his hair stays spiked up into an artificial peak. His shiny lapels glisten right under his chin.

 _Right - movie premiere._

She shrugs. "I'm fine - I think."

"You two mus take care," Jewel's thick accent floats over. They both turn to face the grouchy agent. She's planted two feet away from the edge of what must be a clinic bed, hands on her hips. "You mus be careful."

"Yes, thanks, Jewel," Logan speaks before anyone else can. He slides a hand on Veronica's bare shoulder. She feels a slight shiver despite the warm room. "Could we talk by ourselves for a little bit?"

Jewel humphs, crossing her arms. "You cannot be sure she not hurting you."

"Veronica won't hurt me - trust me."

"You say no girlfriend and then girlfriend appear," the agent laments, "how you know you can trust her?"

"Jewel." His tone grows more firm.

"Fine, fine, okay!" The agent throws her hands in the air. "I guard door. You talk fast, okay?"

And just like that, they're alone in the cramped clinic. She tries to prop herself up.

"Ouch!"

"Careful!" His hands are cradling hers in a second, his fingertips grazing over her bandages.

 _Bandages?_

She meets his eye again. "What happened?"

Logan sighs, brow furrowed. "Another tray hit you."

 _Tray - drinks, right._

"After I hurt my hands?"

He nods, still frowning. "You were about to get up when the second tray hit you - blacked you out and tossed these out of your ear."

She looks down as the broken comms in his hands.

"I grabbed them before anyone could notice."

That familiar pride warms her chest again. She reaches out to cover his hand with her own - and she smiles. "Thanks for that."

He offers her a helpless smile. "It's not like I did much. I couldn't prevent - "

"Hey." She tightens her grip just a little. "Not everyone would've had that presence of mind."

Then he smiles back for real. "Not everyone knows how the great Veronica Mars operates."

"Then she's lucky she ran into her boyfriend then." The words fall out before she can stop them.

He prevents any embarrassment she might feel by folding her close. "Anything to make you happy."

"Right." She laughs against his shoulder. "I'm probably fired after this fiasco. You'll be crying when all my food bills are charged to your card."

"Royalty fees can get quite impressive." He smiles. "I don't think you could empty my pockets just yet."

"But Hung Sir is sure gonna empty mine."

He pulls back, face in that inquisitive half-frown. "Who?"

She pulls away and flops back on the flimsy mattress, sighing loudly. "HKPD chief - fiercer than Jewel, if you'd believe it."

He grins a little. "Not if you've seen her angry."

She whips around to look at him. His face is open, happy - a far cry from the tormented look he had in his late teens - and, if she has to admit it, strikingly handsome. She smiles a little. "The things people do for fame and fortune."

He lets out a sweet little laugh.

"Hey you. Done?" They both turn.

 _How does she sneak into the room like that?_

"Right." Logan stands up. "Call the limo. I'll take her to my suite."

Jewel nods mechanically and disappears again.

"Your suite?"

He looks down at her, half-shy and half-cocky. "You got a better place to go?"

Her mind recalls Hung Sir's stern frown.

 _Uh-uh, no way._

She smiles at Logan. "Let's go."

* * *

The thought of whether or not Veronica is merely using him for special access occurs only for a split second in his mind. It lights up, it flickers, it dies. At the moment, the need to get her into his suite as inconspicuously as possible demands all of his attention.

 _Hiding in plain sight is only as good as coincidence allows it to be._

He swipes his watch against the sensor.

"Welcome," the system politely greets. Taking a long, deep breath, he flings the door open.

The gasp he hears beside him polishes his ego just the right amount.

 _You like?_

He turns around to look at her. Blond hair almost camouflaged against the rich, golden surroundings, her face is filled with genuine wonder. She steps forward slowly - meandering, almost - as if she's in a magical woodland. Her eyes jump all over, expertly taking in the embroidered carpet, the three different sitting areas, the lush cushions, the blinding gold curtains, the warm and calming lights, the desk area, the panoramic window, and the door after door after door.

It takes a while for her to finally meet his eye.

With the door closed behind him, Logan links his hands behind him - and winks.

"Color me impressed," she says lightly, almost nonchalantly. Her shoulders shrug, her eyebrows rise. "Royalty fees _do_ pay off, huh?"

He laughs a little, courteous and professional, and walks over to where she's standing, smack in the middle of the room. "Would you believe I'm getting this for free?"

"I probably should shut up about now if I want _any_ of my dignity intact after this ordeal."

She smiles at him as she quips, but his heart squeezes a little at the feeling that this is just a passing 'ordeal' to her.

"No worries - I don't judge." He winks again - can't seem to help it all evening - and walks over to the nearest coffee table. "Tea?"

She doesn't answer for a small moment before turning over. "Sure. Thanks."

"No problem, kiddo," he tries to keep it light. While their theatre fiasco was half-parts risk and half-parts fun, seeing her in his hotel living room - does funny things to his stomach. He focuses on the tea - the warm pot they keep for him 24/7.

She doesn't say anything else for a while, only mumbling her thanks when he finally walks over with her cup. They sip from their respective porcelain cups in silence, awkwardly hovering in the middle of the room. Their constant shuffling is probably wearing spots on the dark red carpet.

"So, uhm - what's the plan?" He ventures after another ten seconds. The silence is deafening.

She looks up, meeting his eye, and frowns. "I don't know, actually. The assignment was to get Ray _Ko,_ and I know I _totally_ botched that."

"Hey" His hand flies to her shoulder. "It wasn't you who hit the waiters. _They_ hit _you_."

"Yeah, I know," she mumbles uncertainly. She pauses a little before looking him straight in the eye again. "You think they did that on purpose?"

 _No, I was too caught up in the romance to notice._

He frowns. "You think Ray _Ko_ sent them to get you?"

"Maybe?"

He contemplates the possibility. "Would your bosses know if he did?"

He instantly knows he's said something wrong. She pulls back from his touch, frowning and sighing.

"Hey, Vero - "

"It's okay," she stops him. When she meets his eyes again, her face is contorted into a sardonic smile. "Asking the bosses _does_ make sense, I suppose."

"Unless you don't trust them," he concludes.

"Yup." With another big sigh, she wanders over to the nearest sofa. He sits down on the next chair beside hers once she's chosen her spot. "I trust Leslie - he's the Interpol guy. He seems to really know what he's doing. But Hung Sir - I dunno - I can't shake this feeling that he's not as upright as a cop should be."

He wonders if she's aware of how many secrets she's sending his way.

"But you still want to get Ray _Ko_ ," he suggests, leaning forward on the ornately carved arm of his chair.

"Of course." She smiles a little, eyes trained on her empty tea cup. "I just - don't know how I can do it without breaking the law myself."

Corrupt law enforcement -

 _Sounds familiar._

He puts a hand on hers. "Is there any way I can help you? Contrary to popular belief, money _can_ buy a lot of stuff."

She laughs a little. "Yeah. Sure."

He doesn't say more until she does.

After another quiet minute, she finally meets his eye. "Why are you helping me?"

 _Why?_

He thinks a little. "You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed."

" _The Little Prince_?" She laughs.

"See? I always _knew_ you were a big reader." He smiles, squeezing the outside of her hand softly. He smiles even more when she squeezes him back.

* * *

"I'm okay - yes, please assure Leslie. I'm okay, really," she mumbles into her phone. She wonders if the US branch of Interpol tracks her phone all the way to Asia.

 _They did in Africa._

She stops her pacing to sit down on the nearest sofa as Mac says something about Leslie staying over.

 _Poor guy._

Successful career aside - the young man had looked sad - lonely, almost.

"I'm at Logan's." Her hands pick at the carved wooden arm. Beneath her, her bare feet swing back and forth, kicking the dark brown coffee table.

"The guy sure acts fast."

How Mac always manages to sound calm - switched at birth notwithstanding - will continue to baffle her forever.

"If you're talking about getting into my pants, that ain't happening," she half-laughs into the microphone, a bit of doubt in her own joke.

"Good thing you're wearing a skirt, then."

Veronica chuckles again, her eyes looking down at her unlikely ensemble. She reminds herself to ask for her old clothes from Jewel.

 _Maybe Logan can help._

"Hey, if someone _wants_ to give me a brand new LV clutch, I'm not complaining," she keeps talking.

Mac laughs on the other end. "Remind me of that statement the next time you complain about my paycheck."

"Nah, got no time." She leans back against the back of the chair, feeling unexpectedly at home in the opulent suite. "Gotta finish complaining about Logan's first. He writes words - like, just _types_ all day - and people pay him millions."

"I heard that." Logan's voice floats over. Considering the fact that he's lounging in the opposite chaise ten feet away, casually watching a rerun of _Infernal Affairs III_ , it's quite apparent that she knew he'd hear her. He sends a smile her way - a devilishly handsome smile, despite his wrinkled shirt and discarded tie.

 _So handsome it's almost illegal._

"And I stand by my opinion." She inevitably smiles back.

"Free lodging." He shrugs, before resuming his entertainment of choice.

His blend of nonchalance and ease leaves her stranded in the no-man's-land between case partner and former flame.

"I think I'll leave you alone to your non-romance." Mac's voice comes over the line.

 _Oh, right._

"No thanks for the passive-aggressive sentiment," she barks back. Then she bites her lip.

It's not like Mac said anything wrong.

"Thanks for telling Leslie," she reverts to business instead, voice kinder. "I didn't want to call his official number. My comms broke and if Ray _Ko_ and his men were behind my injury, then they could also be hacking whoever else is on the case."

"No problem. He stays here from time to time. I - I'll take care of him."

"Gearing up to be sister-in-law of the year, huh?"

There's a slight pause before Mac answers. "Yeah."

"Thanks, Mac. You're the best."

"Like I said, no problem. And I'm not the best."

She waits for the catch.

"The guy with you right now is."

Frowning, Veronica turns her eyes to the tall figure draped across the Asian-sized couch.

 _Is he the best?_

"The guy interrupted his own movie premiere for you, Veronica," Mac continues. "It's his day to shine - but he let you do the shining."

"He didn't - "

Her close proximity with their topic keeps her from saying more.

"Just accept it, Vee. He's still your guy."

Her eyes focus on his face - the way his eyes squint whenever the scene gets a little intense. The way he sighs through his nose when something's resolved. The guy knew the charms of Asian cinema.

 _Heck, he embraces it._

And that's why he's the illustrious author he is now.

 _Who gave up his big night to help me._

"Thanks, Mac."

What else can she say?

"No problem. Stay safe."

 _Heart or body?_

"Yeah. I will."

* * *

By the time the movie credits roll up the screen and Hacken Lee's voice warbles over the uncharacteristically gentle tones for an action movie theme song, he's almost sore from all the reclining. He pushes himself up to his feet, involuntary huff in tow.

"Good movie?"

Her voice almost gets him nervous all over again. Because without the dashing behavior the spotlights require of him, he's just a regular guy.

He turns to face her, stretching limbs dramatically. "Definitely a classic - you?"

She shrugs, still seated in the exact same position she was occupying a half hour ago.

 _Trust me, I check._

He puts on a smile, turning on the autopilot charm. He braces himself for the typical complaints she's about to launch his way. "Not good enough?"

"Eh." She shrugs again, this time smiling. "The one I watched earlier was _way_ better."

It takes him a few seconds to allow himself to believe that's a compliment.

Now he grins. "Thanks for paying attention during the movie."

"Don't thank me." She stands up, voice light. "It's _Lotus_ 's fault for being so darn captivating. I practically ruined any chance I had of getting Ray _Ko_."

 _Because of me - of what I wrote._

He can't decide whether to feel good or guilty. He shoves a hand in his pocket, looking up at her with his face angled forward. "For what it's worth - I'm sorry?"

She laughs - chuckles, for real. Then she sighs. "Logan, I'm the one who interrupted your moment. It was _your_ night tonight. I ruined the red carpet, and the curtain call, and the reception - but you - you took me under your wing and you let me come here. If anything, _I_ should be the one to apologize."

It pains him that she blames herself. He strides over.

"Veronica, listen." He grabs her shoulders, gentle but firm. "I - I have looked far and wide for somebody who could emulate your bravery, your brains, and your passion. I've practically searched the _world_ \- and, the thing is, I couldn't find anyone even half as good."

She looks up at him, eyes starry, like that night in his car a million summers ago.

He inhales and continues, "That's why I write, you know? Because I'm always trying to recreate the magic that is Veronica Mars."

There, that's it - his heart on his sleeve. He waits for her to process.

Then she surprises him by launching against his torso. Her arms grip him tightly; her head presses against his chest. "Thank you."

The simple words almost bring tears into his eyes. He puts his hands around her and kisses the top of her head. "You're welcome - a hundred, a thousand times over. So, please, stop blaming yourself."

She doesn't say more, and nor does he.

* * *

"I think this'll work for a nightshirt."

She turns around from her observatory pose at the giant window to see Logan holding up a bright red satin button-down, its length just about enough to fall down to her knees. The material looks soothing - the gaudy golden embroidery does not. She tries not to scoff, but her eyebrow flies up anyway. "You have - interesting taste."

"Sorry." He laughs, dropping the shirt and letting it dangle from his right hand. "Berlin was pretty savvy - but stylists from Cairo and Hong Kong, they get a little - flashy."

She can't help smiling at the easy way he's smiling back.

 _At this rate - he'll have me eating out of the palm of his hand in no time._

She almost chuckles out loud as she mentally corrects herself that _he_ is usually the one eating out of _her_ hand, if history's any indication.

"Something wrong?" he asks, brow furrowed in genuine concern.

She looks up, inhales slowly, and then sighs a little. "Maybe this isn't that good of an idea."

"Me helping?"

"No, I mean - yes, I guess. I - don't want to be any more of a bother than I've already been."

"Veronica, you're never a - "

"See, I knew you'd say that." She offers a small, grim smile. Her hands burrow further into their already-crossed hold. "And I don't have a witty book quote in response. I just - don't want to put you in danger along with me."

"You're not going to put me in danger by staying the night. You know that, right?" His forehead leans forward in that serious expression of his. She's surprised by how familiar it feels. "We're in one of the most secure hotels on Kowloon Bay. You're not going to hurt me or yourself or anyone in here."

He's right - but she scrambles anyway, "I know it's safe here, but staying all night - armed with only a handgun, that's just - "

"Not a good idea?"

She looks up and nods a little.

He smirks. "You know there's not much left of actual _night_ , right? Three hours of shut-eye won't kill you."

His comment has her checking her watch - and proving he's right.

"I know it looks all glamorous and stuff around here," he speaks softly, gently, "but I'm still your childhood buddy, okay? I can be the ringmaster one second and completely hidden the next. You don't have to worry. We're safe here."

His confidence warms her more than she wants to admit. She also doesn't like that he only refers to himself as a _buddy -_ but oh well.

"You sure you're okay with this?" She speaks up at last, still feeling a tad surreal.

"Yup, absolutely. This feels fun - like an action movie, almost."

"You think our lives haven't been movies enough?"

"They sure often end up that way, don't they?"

 _Unfortunately._

She feels her eyes threatening to tear up at the sentiment. She inhales and wraps her arms even tighter around herself before breathing it out. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

He looks very, very sincere.

"You really don't mind an agent on the run crashing on your couch?"

"After three days men grow weary, of a wench, a guest, and a weather rainy." He smiles and pretends to check his watch. "Last I checked, you've only been here for less than a day."

She can sense her smile growing wider despite herself. "I'll make sure to throw myself out before my expiration date."

"Nah, don't worry." He walks over and hands her the ugly shirt she's apparently going to sleep in. "That's just Ben Franklin's opinion. As far as I'm concerned - you can stay as long as you want."

* * *

 _A/N: A heartfelt THANK YOU to everyone who responded so graciously to the last chapter. There are many hypotheses, but I guess there is limited proof on what exactly is preventing the readership numbers from climbing. Thank you for trying to figure it out with me! Lots of thanks to irma66 and kry1209 for their input. For everyone who's been asking, I'm not actually from Hong Kong or live there currently. I just visit so much that it's a second home :) I hope you liked this chapter! :)_


	5. Kidnapped

He's been sleeping well for the past week. After all, there's nothing like luxury Asian sheets to foster good sleep or, as the Chinese put it, _fragrant_ sleep. It's almost as if they have sleeping powder sprinkled all over them.

But this morning is different.

This morning, when he wakes up untangling himself from the giant silk cocoon that is his bed, he can hear a hushed, whistle-like snoring floating through the open door. He can catch a glimpse of ruffled blond hair peeking over the arm of an overly embroidered couch in the dimly-lit room.

And _that_ is the sweetest sight he's had for years.

 _She stayed._

He smiles to himself as he rolls over to the side of his mattress mountain. It's not as if she had any reason to leave. He made sure she had no valid excuse left in her pocket. In fact, he evened refrained himself from a fight over the couch last night.

 _There's no feminist more staunch than Veronica._

But given their history and his personal life, he can't help it if abandonment issues still plague him from time to time.

He walks through the door and leans against the nearest wall as he watches the tiny, curled-up sleeping figure. Her skin looks extra pale against the deep red satin shirt. A part of her hair is highlighted by the small ray of sunshine peeking in between the blackout curtains. He sighs before smiling.

Apparently, he also can't help it that she _always_ makes him fall in love with her. All it really took was one look into her azure eyes last night, red carpet notwithstanding - and he's a goner.

 _She's my rock._

He contemplates how his life might have been without Veronica Mars, without her as a constant in his mind and heart, from junior high to the rest of his life. Would he still be who he is today?

He frowns. The answer, of course, is a resounding no.

The answer doesn't comfort him; it emasculates him. How can he - one of the most popular authors in the English world right now - still be this affected by all 5-feet-1 of Veronica Mars?

 _I thought better._

Slightly disturbed by his own frail emotions, he whirls around and heads to the bathroom. There's nothing like an early, cold shower to shake off all the sentimentality.

 _Because I'm more of a man than this._

He fools himself into thinking that he's really not affected by her presence - not at all. He scrubs himself clean. He brushes away any taste of last night from his mouth.

Then he steps out and sees her making his bed, of course.

She looks up, hair still messy but dark circles half the size of last night's - and she smiles.

And when he smiles back, he's _certain_ he'll never recover from this. If he wants to survive, he can never let her waltz out of his life again.

* * *

She doesn't know what on earth compelled her to do something as domestic as _making his bed_. But after all the help he's given her in the past 24 hours, it's the least she can do - right?

Now fully dressed in last night's fake reporter ensemble, she slides onto one of the dining chairs in the round, four-seater dining table.

"Breakfast?" He offers, smiling with his eyes, since his mouth is full of crispy, crunchy, deliciously sinful crullers. He nudges the bowl of congee towards her.

It's a little funny to be eating this humble fare with gold-plated spoons.

"They serve this everywhere, huh?" She grabs one of the painted, deep Chinese soup spoons and dips it into the white, porridge-like texture. "Exotic room service menu, I take it."

He swallows and then laughs. "Jewel brings this every morning from the vendor around the corner downstairs. Can't taste the real Hong Kong unless you _go_ to the real Hong Kong."

 _Ah - the ever-present mother figure._

She smiles. "Thanks."

"Mm-hmm," he mumbles through his next bite.

The entire situation - Chinese breakfast with Logan Echolls in a gold-rimmed hotel suite - and without sex last night - feels bizarre, amazing, and surreal. If she really tries to analyze this, she'll just end up in the psychiatric ward.

So she doesn't.

Besides - the warm, soothing fluid fills her belly with unreasonable warmth. Her mouth revels in the crullers and peanuts and tiny textured fish that provide contrasting textures, and her tongue is getting reminded that sweetened soy milk is one of the best tastes in the world. Vegans are the true connaisseurs.

"You like it?" He asks when she's in the middle of another foodgasm.

 _Logan Echolls - perfect timing._

Her eyes roll back down. She smiles, mouth closed, a tad embarrassed. Then she swallows. "I'll be done and out of your hair soon - I promise."

"Hey." He smiles - and it's alarmingly disarming.

"Hm?"

"Took me a while to find you - so I'm not letting you go that soon, okay? You're no trouble, trust me."

She tries to ignore the implication that he's been looking for her at all. "Keeping me hostage here forever?"

"Think you'll mind?"

"Not if you keep serving me this." She lifts up a spoonful in demonstration before lowering it to her mouth. The stuff tastes _divine_.

"'There is no love sincerer than the love of food.'"

"I know that one!" She finds herself perking up like a prairie dog. "Uhm - George Bernard Shaw. Used it on my very first elementary essay."

"Good job," he exclaims like a preschool teacher and reaches out to pat her on the head.

She laughs. He laughs.

And even as he pulls back his hand, the room feels two degrees warmer.

She blinks a few times; then she looks down at her bowl. The tip of her spoon taps against the ceramic surface at the bottom as she jabs the handle up and down. "Thanks for this, you know. I mean - you really didn't have to. Like I said, I'll be out of your hair in a minute. I just - "

"Hey." His warm hand flies over and stills her agitated one. "I'm not complaining, okay? You've seen the amount of space I have. It's preposterous."

She looks up a little.

"I really, really don't want to be a one-percenter all my life. So, you know, share the spoils. Let's be five-percenters, for once." He smiles - that soft one when his lips are turned up and his eyes gentle.

 _How am I EVER supposed to leave when he keeps looking at me like that?_

She can't help smiling back up a little. "Does this suite come with limo service?"

"Ah, she relents." He grins and pulls back. He's looking far younger, and far more charming, today in his T-shirt and jeans. "I'm headed to a signing. Anywhere the entourage could drop you off?"

 _Why do I suddenly hate the words 'drop off'?_

"You headed over to Island-side?" She tries to sound casual.

"Yup. Just over at Wan-Chai."

 _Perfect - ish._

"That would be awesome."

He smiles at her reply, and she schools her face into as casual of a look as possible.

 _Can't have him catch me swooning._

"You might want to, you know, get ready though." He stands up, right hand reaching behind him to play at the back of his neck. The familiar gesture feels pointedly intimate. He's nervous. "The exit might - take some fire."

 _Fire?_

She frowns, uncomprehending. He shrugs, a tad sheepishly, and gestures towards the window. One brow raised, she stands up and drifts over. Half-hidden by the heavy curtains, she leans over and glances down.

 _Oh._

She inhales. "No secret exit?"

"None without an alarm," he replies behind her.

 _Of course._

She smiles nervously.

Apparently, Hong Kong paparazzi do _not_ sleep - at all.

* * *

"Wemember, you girlfriend. So you look boyfriend-girlfriend. Okay?" Jewel directs them like the seasoned pro that she is.

He fights the urge to say something naughty as his agent hooks Veronica's arm in his.

 _When has choosing my words become so hard again?_

He's been waxing eloquent, on paper and in person, for years by now - especially if his school years count. He smiles a little nervously.

 _All it took was one look._

One look, one tumble, and one smile - and she has him eating out of the palm of her hand all over again. But somehow, he feels a little more reconciled to that thought than he did this morning.

He feels a tug on his elbow that has him looking down.

She's staring back, eyes glassy and teeth biting on her lower lip. She looks nervous - and irresistibly cute.

"Yes, ma'am?" He smiles, ignoring the butterflies.

"Are you sure this is gonna work?" She sounds uncertain.

 _Ah, pigs can fly, after all._

"Jewel knows what she's doing. We'll play them like a violin."

"By marching right among them?"

The agitated hordes outside are screaming, banging, and camera-clicking. No lobby doors are thick enough to keep _that_ decibel level entirely out.

He lightly pats the hand she has on the crook of his arm, feeling every bit a gentleman hero. "It's better than having them tracking us down. Stampedes aren't only for history books, I've heard."

She shudders a bit. He feels both bad and accomplished for scaring an agent.

"Unless you want to leave later?" It hurts a little just hearing himself. "I can go ahead - draw the crowds away. They'll follow my car and you can sneak out later. Jewel will tell you what to do. She's pretty good at this."

She looks like she's pondering it for a little bit. Then she drops the frown and smiles. "If you go first - how would I get my free ride to Wan Chai?"

 _Ah, she teases._

And it makes him feel more elated than he has any business feeling.

"Car here. Go, go!" Jewel grabs them without warning, nods at the bellboys to open the door, and shoves them unceremoniously into the narrow aisle.

"Here! Here!"

The noise level instantly swells by three hundred percent, a menacing tsunami. The cameras start clicking at supersonic speeds. He unhooks his arm with Veronica's and throws it around her instead. She leans close, a willing ward. He gives her a nod - and charges them forward.

" _Mm Koi! Li To Ah!"_

 _"Mm Koi!"_

"Here! Ova here!"

"Mista Echo!"

"Miss - you girlfriend?"

" _Mm Koi_!"

"She you woman?"

"She wear same shirt - she sleep here."

Are they reporters or detectives? He can spot the telltale blue ribbon on their grey van, tossing in the breeze just twenty feet away.

 _Just past this cursed crowd._

He pulls her closer and forward. She cooperates readily.

"Wight side! Ova here!"

"More to the left!"

"Kiss her! Kiss you girlfriend!"

"Echo! You marry her?"

The paparazzi will be the death of him yet.

"That one?" He hears Veronica whisper just under his ear.

"Yup - blue ribbon. Just a little more."

They barely make it before the mob overcomes his security detail and spills into the narrow path they're taking. The van door slides open. He pushes her in and quickly tumbles in after her.

Good thing his assistants lend him a hand.

* * *

" _Kui Sao! Kui Sao! Mo Yok!"_

The harsh, rapid words sound menacing enough by themselves. Said in the dark with a gun to her scalp - they're absolutely terrifying.

 _Breath in, breath out._

Interpol's trained her for this - she can manage.

"Han up! Looke down!"

She lowers her head obediently, catching a sight of Logan doing the same to her left. The cold metal presses intimidatingly against the back of her scalp, and she wishes with all her heart that she can shake the guy - or guys - off.

 _But not in the confined space inside a racing van._

The vehicle rocks violently, swerving abruptly between lanes, as it zooms down the streets of Hong Kong. They run every red light, ride every overpass - as if driving on the 'wrong' side of the road doesn't disorient her enough. She feels breakfast climbing back up her esophagus, and she fights to keep it down.

"Veronica - "

Logan's low whisper gets hushed by the man holding him hostage. She steals a glance to her left. With all this military-themed disguising, their kidnappers look just like every other set of movie henchmen. The holes in their black masks, slightly askew, show slivers of Asian-tinted skin.

 _The accent was accurate._

Even if it wasn't, it wouldn't have been the first time an enemy fakes an identity in an attempt to fool her.

She smiles, sardonic. They try - but they never do.

 _"Zong Yau Kei Loi Ah?"_

The man behind her barks towards the front. The van is still careening maniacally down the streets, double-deck cars and lowly SUVs be damned. She notices the telltale glint of ocean water from the window behind Logan before they force her head down again.

 _"Zong Yau Kei Loi Ah?"_

The man repeats, pressing her down. Claustrophobia rises. She struggles to regulate her breathing.

"He's asking how much longer." Logan's low voice comes in beside her. She looks at him, his face a dichotomy of fear and control.

She nods.

 _"Fai Do La!"_

He inhales sharply; she waits him out. Then he looks at her. "Almost there."

She considers whether or not to figure out what 'there' means in this context, lifting her head subconsciously as she thinks. That action promptly earns her a thump to the back of her head. She's not sure if she heard a crack - but suddenly, Logan is struggling with his aggressor, and everything's going black.

* * *

 _A/N: I am extremely thankful for all the help I get from irma66 and kry1209. They make sure this story comes alive the way it should. Please leave your thoughts!_


	6. Of Human Bondage

The world - dark, damp, and smelling of rusty metal - dawns slowly into her consciousness. She blinks repeatedly, but visibility barely improves. Her nose is scrunched almost up to her forehead.

 _What the heck?_

She stretches a little, neck sore from her awkward slumping against a vertical surface. Her hands, surprisingly untied, feel around where she's sitting on the ground.

It feels like a sheet of ridged, old, hard metal.

 _No wonder my butt hurts._

She stretches a little more before pushing up to her knees. The acute aching of her very numb calves has her dropping back down to a seat. She groans, twisting around to position her legs straight.

 _Where am I?_

Her mind speeds into trained memory exercises.

 _Oh._

She exhales, nerves growing more awake by the minute. The paparazzi, the van, the kidnappers - who says a writer vicariously creates adventures he can't live?

Thoughts about said writer jolts her into newfound urgency. She tries to stand up, struggling on her still-tingly calf muscles. Her head doesn't hit whatever captive space this is. But, then again, she's short. Someone else isn't.

 _Where's Logan?_

Despite the total darkness and subsequent unknown borders, she feels her claustrophobia rising like flood waters. The place doesn't feel like a room - no doors, no windows. The strange ground texture isn't exactly flooring material. The walls - she can't touch any right now - but they feel nearby - tight, small. There's no wind or fresh air around them, just rumbling machinery sounds.

She starts panting.

This whole place, it feels as if - as if -

 _Right._

She frowns.

 _It's as if I'm in a box._

It's larger than Aaron's chosen refrigerator - but it doesn't feel that much better. Suddenly very anxious to get some form of sunlight or fresh air, she braves a few steps forward, hands braced in front of her. Everything feels endless in the dark.

"Oomph!" She almost trips over some kind of warm flesh - something long, a limb. Then she's scrambling, kneeling, feeling everywhere. "Logan! Logan!"

He's still carrying faint traces of this morning's cologne. Her hands fly all over, getting some bearing on his bodily orientation. She feels him rousing.

"Logan, wake up. It's me."

He rolls around and up after moments of extensive shaking. She can feel him squinting, scrunching - doing everything she did a minute ago.

"Veronica?"

"I'm here - here." She finds his hands. He grabs on to them.

"We, uhm - where." He's panting. "Where are we?"

 _My guess is as good as yours._

She grips his hands tighter. "I woke up just a moment ago. They - they drugged us somehow."

"Right."

He's barely awake. She sighs.

"Do you - you remember anything?"

She shakes her head in response, realizing two seconds later that he can't see her. Her voice comes out a lot more timid than she'd like. "I remember the van, but nothing after that. We're in a, box, I think - some kind of captivity device."

He's quiet for a moment. Then he says, "Right."

 _I haven't felt this incompetent for a very, very long time._

She wants to feel for her gun - but something tells her she needs to keep her hands touching his right now.

"Do you remember anything?" She asks, trying, hoping.

"No." He sighs. "Sorry."

"No, it's okay."

He doesn't answer - and they sit there, holding hands in the dark.

* * *

He doesn't remember much past the kidnapper's attempt at cracking Veronica's neck. He'd sprung to action, of course, but another equally strong blow to his head made sure he passed out right after her.

 _Then they drugged us - and threw us in here._

What 'here' happens to be puzzles both of them. The darkness, the metallic smell - it's not your average bunker.

 _Are we underground?_

The humming and creaking of large machines indicate otherwise.

"Can you stand up?"

It takes a while for her question to sink it. He tries to look at her, to sketch out her shape, in the dark. He can't, so he just grips her hands tighter. "I'll try."

"Okay."

They support each other, grappling and pushing alternately, until they're both on their feet. He shakes out his legs before slowly standing taller until he's at full height.

"This thing's pretty tall," he states, not having reached the top yet.

She doesn't say anything back. He wonders if she's nodding.

"Let's check." Keeping his right hand between hers, he slides out his left. Then he raises it, high and straight. He waves, reaching, tiptoeing. "Ouch!"

His hands are both down and being soothed by hers in no time.

 _Veronica Mars - domestic AND nurturing. Who'd have thought?_

"Guess we found the top," he quips, a little sheepishly, as she massages his knuckles.

"How high?"

"My fingertips - so high, but still reachable if we stack up."

"Any hatches?"

He shakes his head. It's instinctive. "No, I'm sorry. It was just - really hot."

"It's okay."

Then they're both quiet again. She finishes rubbing his hands and lets them go. It feels - _lonely_ , standing unattached in the broad, contained space.

"Any theories on where we are?" He asks, keeping it light.

He can almost hear her shrugging. "It's metal - that much I know. The ridges imply something rough and used to store large items. The size says _a lot_ of items."

"Items or people?" He can't help asking.

"No - not people. Far as I can tell from the echoes, it's just a big box - a big, rectangular box. No bathroom, no windows - they'll need more than this to keep prisoners alive. It's definitely for stuff."

"Stuff - right."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it's Hong Kong."

"What does that have to do with it?"

"It's a city built on commerce." It sounds boring even as he says it. "Shipping is a major part of the city's income. The airport is busy both with passengers and cargo. It's Asia's largest shipping hub."

"So we're in a shipping container," she concludes, matter-of-factly.

Makes sense. "Probably."

She's quiet again for a bit. The air feels thinner by the minute.

"Where could they be shipping us?" She asks out loud, almost to herself.

He shrugs, momentarily forgetting she can't see.

"Hong Kong - it's a peninsula with lots of islands. There are lots of ports. Which one are we in?" She continues.

"Probably eight."

"Eight?" She sounds confused, of course.

"Not eight ports, sorry." He feels almost silly for a moment. "It's Terminal 8, near the airport."

She doesn't answer.

He goes on, explaining, "We were headed northwest from Tsim Sha Tsui. And with containers this size - probably 8."

"Okay."

So that's step one - but what next?

He waits for her to say something. She does. "So if we get out of this - thing, would we be near any authorities?"

"Port and trade authority - yes. Interpol? Maybe just the smuggling department."

He's pleasantly surprised to hear her laugh a little.

"You sure know a lot about the Hong Kong underbelly."

He shrugs, smiling. "Ask me about Berlin or Cairo - that works too."

She chuckles. "Well, we're stuck in Hong Kong now. So first things first."

"Right."

How she could manage to make him smile, trapped in an unknown container in an unknown land, baffles and warms him. He was wrong to think he'd based his novel heroines on her.

 _She's even better._

The silence is suddenly interrupted by loud, argumentative noises. In unspoken agreement, they both scuttle to the end of the rectangle, the nearest point to the sounds. The diction is blurry, but the decibels high.

He presses his ear against the warm metal. He feels Veronica taking his hand.

Broken Cantonese words get through to him: ocean, two, idiot.

 _I'm pretty sure I'm the idiot right now._

He grips her hand tighter, keeps listening. More words - ocean, faster, both.

"Okay, okay la!" A male voice cries at last. "Do! Now!"

 _Do what?_

A loud whirring suddenly envelopes them - before the entire box tilts.

* * *

She clings to something - anything - as the entire world tips. She feels Logan gripping her hands tightly and reciprocates. The tilt isn't that bad, no - maybe just thirty degrees.

 _But enough to disorient you in the dark._

They slide forward on the now-slanted floor, their collective weight preventing an outright tumble. The friction between the metal surface and the fabric of her pants creates an uncomfortable burning sensation. She clings to him a little closer, and the burning feels a little less unbearable.

"Hang on. There soon," Logan whispers.

"Okay."

They land gently on the other end of the container, feet braced perfectly in front of them. Then they let go, both scrambling to feel it out. The odd shapes of bars and steel confirm that _this_ side is the opening.

 _Good, at least we know._

And knowing is half the -

"Ah!" They both groan at the sudden rumble - before their box begins to swing.

" _Fai Di La! Fai Di La!"_ A man's voice is croaking outside them, loud enough to cut through their metal dungeon.

"Try harder!" A distinctly Latin accent responds.

The box starts swinging more violently. She gets the eerie feeling that she's being pried away from safety, from being grounded, from -

 _Oh._

"Vee?" Logan asks to her left.

She almost wants to laugh at her ironic epiphany.

"Are they - "

"Lifting us, yes," she finishes for him. She fights to regulate her breathing. That feeling of being pried away - it's actually from gravity itself.

She grips his hand, mentally sketching a way to keep him - them, safe. She finds none.

"Their crane sucks, by the way," she tries humor instead.

"Tell me about it." The sardonic smile is evident in his voice, even in the dark. "Most people prefer a godforsaken corner of the docks to commit murder."

 _Murder_.

For once, he's seemed to have grasped the situation faster than she.

She gulps, mind still racing, still coming up blank. "You think they're killing us?"

"In a rusty intermodal, one inch at a time."

"Crashing us into the mountain?"

"Nah." A hint of resignation touches his voice. "The water should bury us just fine."

She inhales sharply. A heavy metal box in the harbor's deep waters - of course. The crane only sucks, swinging them side to side, because it's an old broken one.

"You're seriously okay with this?" She needs him alert, awake, assertive. If they need to break out of this thing, she needs an able-bodied partner.

He doesn't answer, probably shrugging.

Then he mumbles, "Dead authors sell better anyway."

"Logan!" She spins around, hands tracing up to grab him by the shoulders. "You are _not_ indulging that death wish right now."

"Not my idea."

She can't tell if he's joking or depressed. The box swings violently to the right, crashing them against the leftmost wall - her face against his chest. She breathes fast, panic rising. "Logan, listen - we're getting out of here okay? No martyrs."

"Sure." He wraps his arms around her in a tight, desperate hug.

"Logan!"

"What?" He's docile, chin hooked on her scalp.

"No - death - wishes."

"Right."

Whatever's lifting them - the rotten crane, right - creaks to a stop. The box swings back and forth.

 _We're above the ocean._

She could feel her eyes watering. Death has been an unwelcome reality in her life ever since Lilly died - but facing it still isn't all that fun.

"Veronica."

"Yes?" She looks up, propping her chin on his top rib.

"May I kiss you?"

 _May he?_

Her lungs are hardly large enough to fit her piercing breaths. "Once we get out of here - yes."

* * *

"Once we get out of here - yes."

He sniffs. Her answer - conditional yet promising - makes his heart race faster than it has in years. He's kept his cool until now.

 _And this is no reason to lose it._

He smiles in the dark, drawing strength from the pointless gesture. His laugh comes out far more breathy than he'd expected. "Give a man his dying kiss."

"No."

He's not sure to smile or cry. Because, after so many years on the road, he's gotten used to these brushes with death. Strong, female leads required strong antagonists to raise the stakes - and researching for said antagonists had made him far more enemies than he'd liked. Veronica's right - he knows way more about the underbelly than he probably should.

His life-risking, death-wish-level scrutiny of the wrong side of town enriched his novels. Each book has been praised for its vivid imagery and tangible grip on emotions. The thing is, those writing skills didn't happen by accident. Those images and feelings were real for a reason.

 _Because I've lived every one._

Sire Ma isn't the only reason Ray _Ko_ was at the premiere. Logan knows that much. He'd been accused of exposing mafia secrets more than once. The police force loves him; the criminals don't.

Getting rid of him and Veronica in one blow - is ingenious.

"Logan," she calls him back to their precarious position. "Could you hold this?"

He feels down her arms and towards her hands until his fingers reach the latch she's holding.

"Good." She sounds genuinely proud. "I'm kicking the other side open."

* * *

 _A/N: SO MUCH thanks to irma66 for catching all the times I switch persons, mix tenses, or misplace words. Writing four stories is confusing, y'all. Thank you for reading this! I hope you liked this chapter! We just got plane tickets to go to Hong Kong again in February. I'm really hoping for some major inspiration. Please leave your thoughts! :)_


	7. The Sun Also Rises

"Good." She licks her lips. "I'm kicking the other side open."

She lifts her leg, bracing for impact. With all the darkness and lifting, she's at best flying blind. The kick must free them - but not kill them.

 _But I'm damned if I don't get that kiss._

She puts up a good front. But, deep inside, the excuse is as much for her as for him. Everyone needs survival incentive.

"Veronica?"

"Yup, just hold it." She waits, counts, estimates. If she kicks straight forward, she'll hit the latch. Two inches off, and she gets the flat, useless panel.

 _And I only have so much energy left._

Apparently, getting drugged takes quite a bit out of people.

"Okay, wait - just a minute," she calls out.

"No problem."

She regulates her breathing, adjusts her stance. The maneuver had been easy in training - with bright lights and false locks. But dangling from an unknown height above the ocean?

 _Not so much._

She braces herself, counts.

 _One, two -_

"Ugh!" The loud rumble of their captive crane restarts, simultaneously tilting and sending both bodies hurling down the length of the container.

She can feel her bruises doubling even before her head hits the other end. The box doesn't tilt further, but it swings - strong, from left to right. She reaches for something, anything. Her hands locate a very tense Logan.

"Are you okay?"

Even now, he's worried about _her_.

"Yup," she snaps, barely having breath for more. The swinging sensation morphs to dangling - and she starts to think they might still be over the ocean after all.

"Veronica?"

"Yeah?"

"If this is it for us - if we're drowning in another ten seconds, could we - "

"Logan, no."

"Yes." He manages to sound both calm and insistent. "Cuz if this is it - "

An abrupt ten-feet drop interrupts him. She clings futilely against the walls.

"Veronica, if this is it, then - "

Another drop - then another.

 _Why bother taking their time? If we're dropping into the ocean -_

The loud thud, and the sudden three inches she springs off the ground, gives her the answer.

* * *

 _"Li Pin Ah!"_

Two burly men surround them the moment the container doors swing open. Large hands grab and tie limbs faster than the speed of light.

Then, as instructed by that commanding Latin voice, the gladiators toss him and Veronica all the way across the cement yard, under the scorching noonday sun - and into a truck.

 _Could this day get any more cliché?_

"Oomph." He doesn't mince words when his face hits the assortment of hardware on the bottom.

 _That's gonna leave a mark._

"Hey."

He pulls up his legs and propels himself around. To his right, Veronica does the same. Despite the sideways view, the thin, brown-haired, brown-eyed man smirking at them looks every bit as menacing as a comic book villain. Besides - he looks more familiar than Logan would like him to.

"The lovebirds - is not perfecto?" the villain sneers. "Your day will come."

And snaps the doors shut.

 _Hey, it's better than a modular roller coaster._

It's a little ironic that mere kilometers away, there are hordes of people lining up for rides that will lift them as high as their container module had just been.

"You okay?" Her voice hits the dark, every bit as calm as it had been at death's door.

He smirks, struggling to shift himself up to a seat amidst the debris. "This qualify for a kiss yet?"

"Haha."

He smiles.

They both take a while to sift the random nuts and bolts aside to make space for sitting up. Thanks to the haphazard binding, he knows he can slide off the knots on his wrists and ankles in minutes.

 _Thank you, mafia boss._

He's pretty sure it's the same for her.

The slivers of sunlight peeking through the small streak between the two halves of the truck door expedite the process even more.

 _And then I'll get that kiss._

To be honest, he'd felt pretty stupid asking that earlier. It felt - juvenile.

 _But hey, she bought it._

He smiles again.

"Any luck?" She's asking. He hears her elbow hit something. The contact clangs loudly. She's fidgeting too.

"That was Ray _Ko_ wasn't it?" He focuses on _that_ final knot.

"Yup." She sounds more resigned than he'd like.

Another grunt and three elbow-to-metal clashes later, he hears her heave a long, tired sigh.

"Beat my record," he quips, just about to break that - last - "There!"

She claps her hands. He can't help smiling at the gesture. Then he's back to working on his feet.

"You saw them muscle?" She asks, shifting - so probably untying her ankles too.

"They're scarier than your average Disney sidekick, for sure."

"Though not better named."

"Oh yeah?" He relishes the freedom when he gets that last strand off.

"Yup - Ho and Po, terrors of the guardians of the Armor of God."

He smiles, because there's nothing like a Jackie Chan pun to lighten the day. He's impressed she's still joking.

"So - about that kiss?" He stands up, taking a few steps to find his footing. The tips of his hair brush against the top of the box.

 _Boxed in again - what is wrong with us?_

"Well, Mister Action Hero Author," she declares, now standing. He hears her slapping her hands free of dust. "We're action-heroing our way out of here."

* * *

The distinct yet unintelligible mumbling to her right pumps her heartbeat faster. It's the second time today to have her crouching by a metal door, trying to make out a foreign language without the help of visual hand signs.

"They're waiting for their partner," he says beside her.

 _Good thing I have a translator._

"Too bad they're saying that facing us." She shrugs.

"Yeah, I know." He sounds a little - guilty.

"Come on," she tries to sound motivational. "Losing that sense of humor so fast?"

She can hear him grin. "If we couldn't laugh, we would all go insane."

"Exactly." She smiles. She reaches a friendly hand out. "Now, why don't we take good old Robert Frost's advice."

He takes her hand, _thank God_ , and squeezes it lightly. She refocuses on the noises. From the variety of accents and correspondence their height profiles, it's pretty clear from the random interjections that Ramón Santiago doesn't mind getting his hands dirty - at least when it comes to them.

"They keep saying they should wait for _his_ signal - no antecedent there," Logan explains.

She frowns, mind scanning for the list of potential accomplices. Based on their scant evidence, it could be any of the local warlords eager to bait Santiago's goodwill.

"Sorry," came Logan's voice.

 _Huh?_

"What are you talking about?" Her voice comes out fierce, defensive.

"I'm not much use here, am I? All six feet of wasted space."

 _He wants to get all insecure - now?_

"Are you kidding me? Google doesn't know half the stuff you do. I mean - how do you get so fluent in Cantonese anyway? You also speak German and - wait, what do Egyptians speak - Arabic?"

He finally laughs a little. "I wish. My ears learn faster than my tongue, unfortunately."

"Well." She shrugs. "It's better than most."

"If I didn't know better - I'd have called that a compliment."

Now she's smiling. Her eyes scan the locks - the far-too-easy-to-pick locks, and she feels even better.

"Wait," she stops him before he spirals into another ill-timed apology, protest, or kiss request. She loses his hand and relocates her fingers around the thin bolt. She twists it _just_ the right amount to the right.

 _Okay - a little more._

"Veronica - "

"Wait."

She licks her lips, concentrating. The mumbling outside grows louder. She's pretty sure Ho and Po are parked right outside the truck - but hey, first things first.

The first telltale click boosts her confidence. Interpol officers don't pick locks very often - but Keith Mars's daughter definitely does. She bites her lip at the inevitable thoughts about her father. He knows about her job, all its unsavory details included, but when it comes to partners - would he approve of this one?

"Vee - "

"Wait," she reiterates.

She casts a sideways glance at Logan's vague silhouette in the shadows. Her dad had heartily approved about her staying with Mac - not the grand royal suite of hotel heaven.

 _But I took the couch._

Her dad would be proud.

Her hands stay busy until the last click signals everything snapping into place. She smiles, satisfied.

"Vero - "

"Wait," she whispers.

"No," he whispers back. She pauses. "They say he's here."

 _Who?_

He senses her confusion. "Whoever they're waiting for. He's come - giving the signal."

 _Oh._

She nods before turning back towards the door. With Logan braced protectively behind her, she nudges the metal panel open.

The first breath of fresh air, metallic smell notwithstanding, heartens her tired lungs. She glances around. Ho and Po, as predicted, are stationed securely in front of their spot. At least they're facing the other way now. The broad back muscles on their shoulders push the limits of their dark black T-shirts.

She traces the image further - to Ray _Ko_. He's standing with his arms crossed, his spiky hair and red leather jacket highlighting the bad boy charm. The angle he's standing makes her cross her fingers he won't see them.

But that's not a big deal, not really.

She sucks in a sharp breath at the person she profiles last.

 _No - no way._

"Vero - "

"Sh," she shushes him. He doesn't get it - why she's this upset. Her lungs tighten all over again at the revelation.

Because, standing next to Ray _Ko_ , heroically claiming the role of proud informant - is Mac's grumpy boyfriend Luke.

* * *

"Luke, man." Ray _Ko_ walks over to the new arrival. Logan thinks, drawing from his mental collection of names, faces, and who's-whos. He comes up blank.

"Who's that?" He ventures a whisper to the girl beneath him. If they weren't being fattened for the furnace right now, he's pretty sure their positions would lead to something sexual.

 _Logan, concentrate_.

"That's - Luke," she whispers. Then she gulps.

 _What do you know? She's nervous._

He rests a hand on her shoulder. "Anyone I should know?"

She shrugs. He keeps quiet.

"Cleared the way?" Ray _Ko_ is asking his disheveled partner. "No surprises?"

The guy - Luke, he assumes - grins. "I'll be ready for them."

 _Them?_

In front and below him, Veronica inhales. Why is this man shaking her cool?

 _She's usually untouchable._

"No hard feelings?" Ray _Ko_ looks perfectly assured of Luke's answer.

"No. Girlfriends are replaceable." Luke smiles, crooked teeth particularly crooked in the late afternoon light.

 _Girlfriend_?

"You?" Logan blurts without thinking.

Veronica lets loose a loud, single scoff. "I wish."

 _No?_

She turns around to face him. Her pupils are agitated, her lips quivering.

"I know his girlfriend," she explains, voice increasingly distressed. "It's Mac."

And suddenly, the option of a quick escape doubles its risks. Suddenly, the bad guys have leverage.

"Are you sure?" He's hoping she's not - hoping very hard.

"Unfortunately."

She turns her body and pulls the metal door shut. "We can't barge right through them."

"I know."

The silence simmers, suffocating him.

"I'm sorry," she says in the dark.

He reaches forward and pulls her tight against his chest. "No - it's not your fault. We can't do that to Mac."

"Doesn't feel any better," she mumbles against his muscles.

"I know." He kisses the top of her head. She doesn't struggle.

Just outside the door, Ray _Ko_ shouts. "So - Luke watches here. Who leaves with me? Causeway Bay waits."

* * *

 _A/N: I am incredibly thankful to irma66 for constantly helping me despite her own busy writing schedule and holiday stress. I hope this chapter shed a little more light on what's going on. Any thoughts on the chapter titles? Have a great day, everyone!_


	8. Darkness at Noon

The prickly congratulations outside their strange prison cell soon die down, and the footsteps disperse. Too bad for them, the _number_ of footsteps isn't friendly.

 _Ho and Po are probably right outside._

Veronica sniffs, sorely unhappy. To escape heroically, Logan in tow, sounded like a good idea until recently. But, with Luke's unwelcome appearance - not so much.

"You okay?" Logan's signature phrase echoes in the dark. The tender tones sound so familiar that she's pretty sure she's heard them in another life.

She smiles helplessly. "Until they dump us in the ocean in another hour."

Her right hand picks at the stray thread sticking out of the side of her jeans. She can't decide if she wants to talk or brood until their inevitable restoration to the metal capsule.

"Another hour?" His voice sounds small and young in the dark.

"Yeah. The sun's setting in a while. Give it another hour for twilight to fade."

"Huh." He scoffs. He's scurried to the other end of the truck since they let go of that impromptu embrace. She'd felt a little empty - but didn't say anything about it, of course. "I shouldn't have chosen Hong Kong, should I? Zero twilight in the tropics."

"You need twilight for your stories?" She asks, honestly curious.

He pauses a few seconds before speaking, "Haven't read them, have you?"

 _This is not fair._

"Yes, I did," she protests.

"Sure you did."

"I did!" She sits up taller. "The gangs in _Ashes_ were totally badass, but it's the action scenes in _Mist_ that win the day. _Lotus_ has the best family moments."

She can almost see him smiling in the dark.

"It's not about the books," he says then, his tone lighter. She hears his legs dropping straight on the car floor. "I just - you know."

 _I know what?_

"If I hadn't shown up," he goes on, "then maybe you wouldn't have been in this mess in the first place."

 _What?_

"What are you talking about?" She stands up instantly, picks her way towards him. She kicks a couple of spare bolts to clear a spot next to him. "They're after _me_ , Lo. You're only here by mistake."

"Am I?" His voice is cracking. She hears him gulp as she sits down. "Ray _Ko -_ he wasn't at the premiere by accident, you know?"

"He's there because of Sire - " She cuts short her own autopilot reply.

 _Logan's in cahoots with the local mafia?_

"You don't write effective books about the seedy underbelly unless you've actually _seen_ it in all its barnacled glory," he explains without prompting. The back of his head hits the metal wall. "I owe a few favors around here. Ray might just to be friends with one of my creditors."

 _Oh_.

But, then again, the fact that it's Santiago instead of this invisible creditor threatening to murder them - the target may still be more her than him.

"Veronica?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry."

The two simple words strike closer to home than a thousand famous quotes.

She gulps; then she sniffs. "About what?"

He gives her three seconds of complete silence.

"Everything. This, Ray _Ko_ , botching your job - Gory, Piznarski, Beaver - Shelly's party and Madison and - "

She shuts him up with her lips on his. His hands fall instinctively on her hips. Her knees draw in closer on both sides of him. He kisses her back - eagerly yet gently. He's been waiting for this, she can tell.

And maybe, in all honesty -

 _I have been too_.

His tongue flits lightly in the seam between her lips, and suddenly the kiss is growing - deeper and longer and breathier. Her hands are on both side of his face, gathering him closer. His hands are sliding to the small of her back, pressing her torso against his. They're kissing, licking, sighing, even biting. Goosebumps break over every last inch of her skin.

Then he twists them around, letting her back hit the wall. She starts to realize that this is the best place to be trapped in the whole entire universe - between a hardy, hot surface and a horny, hot Logan. His hands slide up and down the outside of her thighs. She starts wondering how they'll feel on the _other_ side.

She feels her legs widening. She feels his legs straightening. He presses up against -

A loud clank of metal against metal against metal stills their actions.

They both pause, still posed in the starting position of every human mating cycle.

She's panting. He's panting.

 _Had we been about to -_

"Wait," she says. He lets go and pushes away, a true gentleman.

She waits until later to complain about the loss of contact. Her peripheral vision catches a sliver of reflected light she hadn't seen before.

He's panting loudly. She knows he's hanging on her every word.

"I might have a way to get us out of here."

* * *

"Is it worth the risk?" He whispers in the dark. She shushes him right away.

 _Guess I'm no help here._

He starts shifting away, but the leg she has hooked around his keeps him in place.

"Could you check the back?" she murmurs.

He sighs. Having lost his only excuse to stay put, he promptly unentangles them and weaves his way through the random debris. The limited light from the truck seams had faded since their make-out session.

 _The night's setting in._

And night time means bed time - graveyard-bound.

He kneels down by the now-unlocked door and slowly tugs the handle. He shifts left and right to maximize his small sliver of vision. He gets glimpses of Ho and Po's burly backs reclining against the steps - and a bunch of sinister buddies chatting a few yards away.

"Lo?"

It's his turn to shush her. She complies. Then he picks his way back to where she's been chiseling away the past half hour.

"How many of them?" She asks under her breath. He hears another piece of metal bounce its way to the truck floor.

"Seven," he reports, leaning closer than he had to.

He could feel her nodding. "Good."

It takes another minute until the next piece drops.

"Will we make it?" He asks, for lack of anything better to say.

"You wanna die here?" She snaps back.

Now he grins.

 _Doesn't take long to get the shields back up._

"The bravest thing I ever did was continuing my life when I wanted to die."

The chiseling stops. He waits.

"Hm - Collins? Shelley?"

"Nope." He grins wider. "Juliette Lewis, the actress."

She laughs, and the sweet sound means the world.

"Cheater," she mocks and gets right back to work.

He smiles as they fall back down to a companionable silence.

"Okay," she announces, minutes later. He perks up to listen. "I'm gonna peal the rest of the cover off to get to the latch. Then we're headed out through the front - alright?"

"Sounds great." He's genuinely happy, and proud.

"But first, I need a distraction. The pealing might get noisy."

 _Hm._

"Does kissing you count?" He suggests just because.

"Well, only if you think - "

He thinks whatever she thinks he thinks and promptly kisses her hard. One hand supports her back. The other hand traces her arm until he finds the thin sheet of rusty metal at the end. And, between the breathy moans and hums, he grips the sheet and pulls.

* * *

The stars look alive tonight, smiling down in a motherly gaze at them. A few miles away, the manmade stars of the Hong Kong skyline shimmer even brighter. They run, limbs flailing like children, too tired and relieved to really care about form. He thinks it's the most fun he's ever had in a really long time.

"Are we - there yet?" Veronica pants when they stop by a road sign. She's fit - still upright. He's almost keeling over.

"Depends on what _there_ is," he doesn't lie. His lungs are working on overdrive. His hands brace his upper body over his shaking knees.

"A posh hotel, maybe? I mean, seriously - civilization - of literally any kind."

He smirks and scoff and laughs all at the same time. Sometimes, you just don't have enough breath to do 'em one by one. "There's not much here by way of people. The highway goes straight back to Kowloon - but Causeway Bay is _way_ further down."

She sigh-pants, neither of them actually happy. He sees her eyes taking in the rocky shores and choppy waves.

"Could we swim it?" She sounds like she totally means it.

"Death wish, much?"

She glares at him - a little playfully. He grins.

"Seriously though." He straightens up a bit, stretching his muscles for the next inevitable sprint. "This is transport area. No one ever stays here - except the sporadic eccentric fisherman."

"Fisherman it is." She shrugs, clearly still thinking.

He smiles. "Still figuring out how to survive the cold night without cuddling by my naked form?"

She gives him an exasperated look - and smiles. "You may need some reminding, sir, that if we really want to run away from the bad guys - your famous face is the first thing we ditch."

"Or the only trump card we have." He grins.

The waters are noisy and overwhelm their subtle smiles.

But, hey, adventures don't get better than this.

"I'll call Mac at the first sign of cell signals." She starts walking.

"Jewel will be right behind her."

* * *

 _A/N: Hi VM fandom! I know it's been such a long wait for just one chapter, but I will do my very, very best to update this story - even if it's just one chapter a year. Somehow, the intensity of LoVe demands so much of me just to churn out a scene or two. Thank you so much for waiting, dears. Have a wonderful new year!_


	9. Stranger in a Strange Land

"Hello?"

"Hello? _Wai_? Ma-k?"

"Uhm, yes?" She's not exactly unaccustomed to the typical, abrasive way a Hong Kong native picks up the phone. She deposits herself on the couch, still in her flannel pajamas. Silk is for showing off, not for sleeping. In the periphery of her auditory reach, she hears Leslie's typical groans as he tumbles out of bed. Morning larks don't exist over here. "Yes, this is Mac. Can I help you?"

"You have _Pat Dat Tong?_ Veronica?"

The name throws her off a bit.

"Wait, who is this?"

"Jewel. Agent of Logan."

Mac sits just a bit straighter. Leslie shuffles down beside her.

"Logan Echolls?"

"Yes, yes - you know many Logan?"

Well, she's _kinda_ right. It's not like Hong Kong-ers love any other names beside 'Jackie,' 'Lawrence,' or 'Tim.'

"What about him?" She's not a cop, never wanted to be one - but careful is something she's always been. Her hands signal for Leslie to grab her laptop.

"We trace Logan. He no move. You know how trace Veronica?"

The idea is so simple that she's a little ashamed for not having tried it before.

"You want me to hack Veronica's Octopus Card?" It makes sense, really. What better item to trace than the all-powerful piece of plastic that lets anyone take the bus, take the train, buy a snack, and - sometimes - even check into their building? Mac's fingers start flying. She doesn't bother hiding her password from the closely observant Leslie.

"Yes, yes."

"Okay." Hacking has always come as a second nature to her - if anything, she's more hindered by not always having _reasons_ to hack without getting in the way of the law. It's just a _little_ ironic that she's doing this in front of a cop right now. "How do I know you're who you say you are?"

She multitasks - and Leslie's keeps right up. He grabs the laptop, the cable, the water she didn't realize she needed. He even procures the receipt for Veronica's Octopus Card before she even asks.

"I have the number for her card. I'll trace it."

Jewel stays silent on the other side of the line.

"How did you get my number?" She _has_ to be sure.

"Veronica give. Waiver for all ladies to Logan."

"Makes sense." After one slight delay, one moment of extra focus, and one moment of a quick Google search to know that Jewel really is who she claims to be, the results pop open. Leslie inhales as sharply as she does.

" _Wai_? Hello? What her _Pat Dat Tong_ say?"

Mac frowns, pretty weirded out. "What are they doing _there_?"

* * *

"You do realize, Grand Duchess Veronica, that walking, while a popular choice around here, is not _preferred_ in such times?"

It's the third time he's complained. It's getting ridiculous.

She took off her shoes a kilometer ago. She's about to chuck them at him now.

"Quit complaining, _princess_."

Somehow, survival mode - without imminent danger - is not as sexy.

"As you wish." He sighs dramatically.

They wander aimlessly along the rocky shore, guided vaguely by the cluster of lights they're roughly wandering towards. At Logan's suggestion, they avoid the main road altogether.

 _Guess hitchhiking isn't really a thing around here._

In another time and place, picking their way along the slippery moss and crashing waves, occasionally lending each other a hand, can actually be construed as a very romantic moonlit walk.

Knowing they can be discovered anytime - by all the wrong people - takes all the sensuality out pretty thoroughly.

"You know we can just call Jewel. She'll locate us in no time," her tall, handsome, and annoying travel buddy suggests three minutes later.

"And I can call Mac - who would find us even faster - _if we had a damn phone_." She scoffs right after she talks - and almost loses her footing completely.

"Hey!" Logan's by her side in an instant, supporting her by the waist. She looks up, caught in a pleasant surprise by the closeness of it all. "You okay?"

 _Hey, maybe running for your life_ can _be romantic too_.

"Wasting time on damsels in distress isn't helping your tough guy act, Lo." She doesn't speak with too much bite - just that bit of unspoken 'thank you' - before righting herself on her bare feet. Her clothes stink. Well, _both_ their clothes stink.

But at least they're both still alive.

"Ah, the sacrifices of a hero's calling," he talks big, but smiles shyly. She's tempted to start another make-out session they can't really resolve.

 _He's always been right, you know?_

They were epic - _are_ epic. This whole kidnapping situation is just another glitch they'll get over in the course of their destined grand adventure of life.

Without her, he wouldn't have had his books. With him, she would never have had the tenacity to fight tooth and nail over every single case and every single victim of their circumstances.

Some people, broken as they are, deserve so much more than life has dealt them.

"Hero, huh?" She jokes instead, picking up the pace again. His long legs give him a hundred more options when it comes to footholds, so it's clearly by choice that he stays in step with her. "I almost thought you would have played the victim card. As far as we know, they were after _me_."

"I am the very slave of circumstance and impulse - borne away with every breath!" He recites dramatically.

Even if he blames her - he sure hides it well.

"Shakespeare?"

"Lord Byron." There's a whole new level of sarcastic mock anger in his voice.

She can't help giggling.

 _How did this creature come out of the mess that was his past_?

"Sometimes, Lo, you're pretty hilarious."

He chuckles. There's a faraway look in his eyes when he turns to face the elusively small light cluster still an ocean away.

 _Who says Hong Kong is overpopulated?_

It's just certain parts that are - it seems.

"Come on, darling, we got a long night ahead of us."

If only it were long in a much more pleasant way.

* * *

"No, training or not - this is it - I die here." She drapes herself on the nearest rock, every inch sore from walking and heaving and near-death-experiencing. She feels Logan hover nearer than he has since they fled the truck. They're safely away now, two hours of walking and a thousand blisters finally putting enough distance between them and their frustrated attackers.

 _At least I'm not dying alone._

"There's a house another five hundred meters away." Her over-famous travel buddy cocks his head sideways, a gesture that always reminds her of high school Logan Echolls. "We can just hang on until - "

"Five hundred meters?" Even now, she manages to quirk a smile. "Since when did Mr. Metric System come to be?"

The comment seems to catch him off guard - and wins her a casual, unexpected, sincere smile.

 _Goodness, he's yummy like this._

Veronica shakes her head - her brain, really.

"How much longer?" She grumbles, begrudgingly shifting her way back to her feet. She almost slips on the moss. He steadies her instantly. He's so close that she can't resist pecking him on the cheek.

He smiles.

Then - out of mischief, whether the joyful type or not - he leans down and hauls her up in his arms, bridal-carry style - and sure-footedly walks forward.

It's as if he's _trying_ to kill her.

 _By way of cardiac arrest._

She hangs on, because what else is a girl to do when the man who's weaved himself in and out of her dreams for an entire decade literally shows up to sweep her off her feet?

"I got you." He kisses the top of her head. His breath is surprisingly steady despite her extra weight.

Soon, they hit the concrete threshold of the tiny fisherman's home.

It helps to be just that much closer to civilization - and, in an entirely different way, that much more closer to him.

* * *

 _A/N: I finished this chapter earlier than I'd expected! I hope it forwarded their story just that tiny bit more. I'm crossing my fingers I won't have to wait another year for the inspiration of the next chapter to come! Much love, Iris._


	10. A Midsummer Night's Dream

"You-a what?" The grouchy fisherman - all tanned skin and cropped hair - isn't cutting them any slack, despite the fact that she is _certain_ there is absolutely no way she and Logan appear threatening in their smelly clothes and sweat-soaked hair.

"Please - we just need help - for one night - _yat man_ only." Logan's panting more from the begging than the carrying.

 _And I'll be damned if that detail isn't at least a wee bit intriguing._

Where's good ol' universal hospitality when you need it? Veronica groans.

"Stop looking so grouchy," Logan side-whispers. She rolls her eyes _very_ dramatically before uncrossing her arms.

"Please, sir," she joins his entreaties to the somewhat-middle-aged man. A lone, flickering light bulb hangs haphazardly over their heads. "We don't have any money now, but we will pay you when we can."

"No money."

 _Of course_ , that's _what he picks up on_.

"We can help," Logan offers. He almost flexes his stupid muscles for a bit, she thinks. "We can carry fish - or wash them - or anything."

Veronica bites her lip to prevent the image of a former 09er physically lifting loads of stinky fish from deck to land.

 _Heck, I'd pay just for the sight of that._

" _Bin ko ah?_ " A woman's voice echoes out from the shed's interior. The place looks small but well-built. There has got to be at least one extra room other than whatever this old couple may be using.

Soon, the owner of the emerging female voice appears alongside the grouchiest potential host ever. The woman looks just like she sounds, really - small but strong-boned, old but not withered. Her well-worn night shirt speaks quiet volumes of an honest, decent life.

"Ma'am," Logan starts.

"What you need?"

 _At least this one speaks English_.

"We were being chased - by bad people. They robbed us." Logan turns on the puppy dog eyes. Veronica finds herself hoping and hoping that some things work on women of _all_ ages and cultures. Logan shakes his head, almost forlornly. "My wife and I need help - just for one night."

She almost protests the words, but a quick hand to her wrist stops her.

Well, she's shown up on his arm as his girlfriend already, right? Why not get the whole promotional package instead?

 _The townsfolk are conservative_.

She knows that. Cops know that. She's done her homework on the elitist yet scrappy, traditional yet progressive local culture the entire flight across the Pacific Ocean.

Still, her heart thumps just a little faster at their escalating charade.

"We simple people," Mrs. Fisherman explains in her thick Asian accent. "No want trouble."

"We're not here to give you _any_ trouble, ma'am," Logan intercedes. "We just need somewhere to stay. We will leave tomorrow, right away."

"Tomolow _meh ah_?" The surly husband grills his wife.

The lady frowns, maybe considering.

 _Please, please let her say yes._

" _A ba, a ma, lei dei gao meh ah_?" A much younger girl is coming up. The door behind the couple opens to reveal a teenage girl in thick glasses and much more modern pajamas. Her eyes widen slightly at the sight of the two Americans - and she clearly and quickly catalogues both Veronica and Logan in their current ensemble.

Her eyes land on Logan.

"Logan Echo?"

Veronica grips her pretend-now-husband's hand just a little more tightly.

Logan nods, probably desperate.

"You really him?"

He nods again.

Then, slowly, a grin creeps on to the face of the only 21st-century person to live in the house.

" _A ma_ , let them in."

"They good people?"

"I think so."

"No money," the girl's father reiterates.

"It's okay." A smirk appears on the girl's face. "We get something from him - a signature. That will get us enough money for a year."

* * *

"So - just gonna sign your way out of poverty, huh?" There's bark, but no bite, in her words as she shimmies out of her dirty clothes and slips on the strange tie-die old nightshirt from the fisherman's wife.

 _Sometimes, her general lack of modesty is a pretty good thing._

He tries not to stare _too_ hard.

"I thought spouses were supposed to be happy about their significant others having passive income." He slips off his shirt too. He smells of grime and sweat and near-death-experience. He's a little too sleepy to care.

The small double bed against the wall is a far cry from the luxurious silk seats in his suite less than two days ago - but it's beckoning to his bones like a siren's lulling song.

Veronica laughs. She laughs, for real, for probably the first time since their little one-night-stand stunt turned into a living nightmare at Tsim Sha Tsui.

"Don't push it, buddy." She plops backwards on the bed. There's a tired smile lacing the edges of her eyes. She's muddy and smelly and intoxicatingly beautiful. "Last I heard, you haven't exactly proposed."

He leans against the tiny cabinet in the tiny room, still slouching a bit to avoid hitting the ceiling.

 _If you only knew, Veronica. If you only knew._

So he goes for humor - because it's nothing but the best writer's weapon, isn't it?

"Fact is, I'm completely broke - more broke than any son of Aaron and Lynn Echolls has any business being. So while I'm not exactly in the position to have a ring to wed thee, or worldly goods to endow thee - there's always, you know." He waggles his eyebrows emphatically. "The with my body I thee worship part."

She doesn't laugh this time.

But she does bite her lower lip, blue eyes sparkling in the midst of this stolen eye of the storm.

 _We might be dead tomorrow._

He knows it. He knows she knows it.

The dangerous company they've shed tonight is only going to be fooled for so long. If anything, this night of respite probably won't even last the night. It's the breather - the bathroom break before the second half of the movie picks up. They may come through it all unscathed - or they can actually die trying.

So he makes the most of it.

"I'm gonna take a shower." He announces, intentionally stretching the muscles he's already bared. "You remember where those are in our mansion tour?"

"Round the corner, just outside." Her voice is low, soothingly deceptive.

"In the dark and out in the open, huh?"

"Yup." She leans forward, dwarfed by her tunic-slash-gown-slash-fashion-monstrosity. "Need company?"

 _Ah, there's my Veronica._

He smirks. "I dunno. I think I've sort of started to take a shine to this whole darkness thing."

"Falling in love with the dark side, love?"

He shrugs, faking his cool. "I wasn't actually in love, but I felt a sort of tender curiosity."

She nods slowly. " _The Great Gatsby."_

"You've always been the smart one."

"And, tonight, apparently, the rich one too."

He doesn't get it - not at first. Then she leans over and reaches into the back pocket of the jeans she's tossed on the ground just a minute ago - and pulls out a shiny little piece of plastic. She twists it around a little between her fingers, the theatrical one, for once.

"Is that - "

"An Octopus Card." Now she offers it up to him with both hands, like it's on a golden platter. " _Almost_ mint condition."

And just like that, all pretenses of a teasing shower go out the window. He pulls her into a hug, kisses the side of her head, her cheek, and then her lips. She kisses him back, equally passionate. There's a whole new kind of energy between them when they pull back to catch their breaths twenty seconds later.

 _And a whole new category of battle scars I'll be wearing by the end of the day._

She's still panting when she talks. "Never thought I'd see the day when I'm richer than an 09er."

He laughs against her lips. It's all they need - that glimmer of hope, that sliver of control over this disastrous reunion.

"And there's no better time, Ronnie - literally, no better."

And then it seems mutually decided that any further celebrations should include more kissing and gasping and grabbing than words.

* * *

"How longer still?" Jewel demands, her voice steady despite the rapid rhythm of their fast-cruising cop car.

"Just a couple more minutes," Mac replies, eyes and fingers trained on her laptop. The red dot hasn't moved for hours. There's enough reason to hope that Veronica and Logan are finally safely harbored somewhere - and enough cause to despair that the trail is as dead as they could be.

Leslie pulls off a dangerous swerve. Mac hits him with a smile.

 _What would she ever do without him?_

She doesn't get a chance to reevaluate that thought before their vehicle lunges to a screeching stop.

"Wha!" Jewel's hands brace violently against the headrests, practically slapping Mac on the back of her head. She feels Leslie's hand grab instantly for hers.

"I'm fine. Thanks." Mac rights the laptop before righting herself.

"Good," Leslie says with a nod - before grabbing his gun and jumping right off his seat.

"Wait!" Mac's out of the car in an instant, Jewel right behind her.

The scene on the middle of the road - indubitably what made Leslie pull a movie-level full stop - is straight out of a nightmare.

Every twenty steps, a bloody body lies moaning on the highway - gunshot wounds and slashes all over torsos, limbs, and even faces. Running the perimeter, Leslie is barking Cantonese codes into his comms in rapid fire succession. Jewel, perhaps out of civilian instinct, probably has about three dozen snapshots on her phone already.

"Logan and girlfriend no here," Jewel declares.

Mac nods absent-mindedly, still cowered by the bloodshed. Sure, she can't blame Jewel for focusing on her job, but Leslie has to focus on his too.

Soon, sirens echo from a distance. More wheels screech, more footsteps murmur. The surreal and gory reality of what's lying in front of her begins to get to Mac's senses. Oxygen runs short. Her line of sight blurs.

"Ma-k!" Jewel scolds.

"Mac, over here!" Leslie's voice cuts through the chaos. Mac blindly follows. She feels him take her hand, unduly gentle given the startling nature of the scene around them. "I hope you okay."

The concern doesn't register until she realizes who's lying on the ground in front of them.

Groveling at their feet, moaning from a few superficial wounds - is Luke Leung - his brother, her boyfriend.

"Luke."

 _Is this what reality feels like?_

"They found Ray _Ko,"_ Leslie explains softly by her ear, just for her. "He hiding at Causeway Bay. This battle here - was a distraction."

 _And my boyfriend was a bug - all along._

She steps forward and lands the firmest kick she can against her never-again-boyfriend's ribs. He groans very satisfactorily, and Mac marches straight back towards Leslie's car.

* * *

 _A/N: I'm trying my best to give this story the full development it deserves! Hang in there!_


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